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RURAL TALES; 


PORTRAYING SOCIAL LIFE 


BY HANNAH MORE. 


' • 

j( 

I. THE TWO WEALTH! FARMERS. 

II. PARLEY THE PORTER. 

III. ALL FOR THE BEST. 

IV. TOM WHITE. 

V. PILGRIMS. 

VI. VALLEY OF TEARS. 

VII. THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAY- 



#EW YORK: 

D. APPLETON & CO., 200 BROADWAY. 

PHILADELPHIA: 

GEORGE S. APPLETON, 148 CIIESNUT ST. 


MDCCCXLIV, 



7? n * 'vUL* &uuu> 

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£ 

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NOTICE. 


The following series of characteristic delinea- 
tions by Hannah More, are entitled Rural Tales, 
because the external scenes of the four principal 
narratives are placed in the country. However, 
they are chiefly biographical, exemplifying not 
only the practice, but the exercises of mankind, 
in their diversified relations and pursuits. “ All 
for the Best,” comprises a most impressive pic- 
ture of the changes in human condition ; and of 
the patience and resignation with which trying 
afflictions can be met, and of the only adequate 
method by which lasting sweet may be extracted 
from temporary bitterness, and constant gain from 
frequent disappointment. The “Two Wealthy 
Farmers” are graphical portraits of myriads of 
men in the same station of life, of similar princi- 
ples and pursuits ; and are equally profitable sub- 
jects of contemplation for all persons engaged in 
the active business of the World. “ Parley the 
Porter” is one of Hannah More’s most efficiently 
instructive pictures of man in his unthinking way- 


4 


NOTICE. 


wardness, to be found amid our moral portraitures. 
“ Tom White” is the exact counterpart, in another 
state of society, of some of our American plough- 
boys and wagoners, who have vaulted from the 
humble employ of Jehus on the public highways 
to be charioteers of the State. The volume will 
be found to be an excellent counterpart to the 
“ Domestic T ales” by the same charming authoress ; 
both of them, in truth, illustrating the Poet’s coup- 
let: — 

“ A twofold gift in this neat volume lies, 

It makes you merry, and it makes you wise !” 

New York, August 7, 1844. 


RURAL TALES. 


I. THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS; 

OR, THE HISTORY OF MR. BRAGWELL. 

I. — THE VISIT. 

Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy happened to meet 
last year at Weyhill fair. They were glad to see each 
other, as they had but seldom met of late ; Mr. Brag- 
well having removed some years before from Mr. 
Worthy’s neighborhood, to a distant village. 

Mr. Bragwell was a substantial farmer and grazier. 
He had risen in the world by what worldly men call 
a run of good fortune. He had also been a man of 
great industry ; that is, he had paid a diligent and con- 
stant attention to his own interest. He understood 
business, and had a knack of turning almost everything 
to his own advantage. He had that sort of sense which 
good men call cunning, and knaves call wisdom. He 
was too prudent ever to do anything so wrong that 
the law could take hold of him ; yet he was not over 
scrupulous about the morality of an action, when the 
prospect of enriching himself by it was very great, and 
the chance of hurting his character was small. The 
corn he sent home to his customers was not always 
quite so good as the samples he had produced at mar- 
ket ; and he now and then forgot to name some capital 
blemish in the horses he sold at fair. He scorned to 
be guilty of the pretty frauds of cheating in weights 
and measures, for he thought that was a beggarly sin; 
but he valued himself on his skill in making a bargain, 

1 * 


6 


RURAL TALES. 


and fancied it showed his superior knowledge of the 
world to take advantage of the ignorance of a dealer. 

It was his constant rule to undervalue everything 
he was about to buy, and to overvalue everything he 
was about to sell ; but as he seldom lost sight of his 
discretion, he avoided every thing that was very shame- 
ful ; so that he was considered merely as a hard dealer, 
and a keen hand at a bargain. Now and then when 
he had been caught in pushing his own advantage too 
far, he contrived to get out of the scrape by turning 
the whole into a jest, saying it was a good take in, a 
rare joke, and he had only a mind to divert himself 
with the folly of his neighbor, who could be so easily 
imposed on. 

Mr. Bragwell, however, in his way, set a high value 
on character : not indeed that he had a right sense of 
its worth ; he did not consider reputation as desirable 
because it increases influence, and for that reason 
strengthens the hands of a good man, and enlarges his 
sphere of usefulness : but he made the advantage of 
reputation, as well as of every other good, centre in 
himself. Had he observed a strict attention to princi- 
ple, he feared he should not have got on so fast in the 
world as those do who consult expediency rather than 
probity, while, without a certain degree of character, 
he knew also, that he should forfeit that confidence 
which put other men in his power, and would set 
them as much on their guard against him, as he, who 
thought all mankind pretty much alike, was on his 
guard against them. 

Mr. Bragwell had one favorite maxim ; namely, 
that a man’s success in life was a sure proof of his 
wisdom : and that all failure and misfortune was the 
consequence of a man’s own folly. As this opinion 
was first taken up by him from vanity and ignorance, 
so it was more and more confirmed by his own pros- 
perity. He saw that he himself had succeeded greatly 
without either money or education to begin with; and 
he therefore now despised every man, however excel- 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


7 


lent his character or talents might be, who had not the 
same success in life. His natural disposition was not 
particularly bad, but prosperity had hardened his heart. 
He made his own progress in life the rule by which 
the conduct of all other men was to be judged, with- 
out any allowance for their peculiar disadvantages, or 
the visitations of Providence. He thought, for his 
part, that every man of sense could command success 
on his undertakings, and control and dispose the events 
of his own life. 

But though he considered those who had had less 
success than himself as no better than fools, yet he 
did not extend this opinion to Mr. Worthy, whom he 
looked upon not only as a good but a wise man. They 
had been bred up when children in the same house ; 
but with this difference, that Worthy was the nephew 
of the master, and Bragwell the son of the servant. 

Bragwell’s father had been ploughman in the family 
of Mr. Worthy’s uncle, a sensible man, who farmed 
a small estate of his own, and who having no children, 
bred up young Worthy as his son, instructed him in 
the business of husbandry, and at his death left him 
his estate. The father of Worthy was a pious clergy- 
man, who lived with his brother the farmer, in order 
to help out a narrow income. He had bestowed much 
pains on the instruction of his son, and used frequently 
to repeat to him a saying, which he had picked up in 
a book written by one of the greatest men this country 
ever produced — That there were two things with 
which every man ought to be acquainted, Religion 
and his own business. — While he therefore took 
care that his son should be made an excellent farmer, 
he filled up his leisure hours in improving his mind : 
so that young Worthy had read more good books, 
and understood them better, than most men in his 
station. His reading, however, had been chiefly con- 
fined to husbandry and divinity, the two subjects which 
were of the most immediate importance to him. 

The reader will see by this time that Mr. Bragwell 


8 


RURAL TALES. 


and Mr. Worthy were as likely to be as opposite to 
each other as two men could well be, who were nearly 
of the same age and condition, and who were neither 
of them without credit in the world. Bragwell indeed 
made far the greater figure ; for he liked to cut a dash , 
as he called it. It was his delight to make the ancient 
gentry of the neighborhood stare, at seeing a grazier 
vie with them in show, and exceed them in expense. 
And while it was the study of Worthy to conform to 
his station, and to set a good example to those about 
him, it was the delight of Bragwell to eclipse, in his 
way of life, men of larger fortune. He did not see 
how much his vanity raised the envy of his inferiors, 
the ill-will of his equals, and the contempt of his 
betters. 

His wife was a notable stirring woman, but vain, 
violent, and ambitious ; very ignorant, and very high- 
minded. She had married Bragwell before he was 
worth a shilling, and as she had brought him a good 
deal of money, she thought herself the grand cause 
of his rising in the world ; and thence took occasion 
to govern him most completely. Whenever he ven- 
tured to oppose her, she took care to put him in mind 
that he owed everything to her ; that had it not been 
for her, he might still have been stumping after a 
plough-tail, or serving hogs in old Worthy’s farm- 
yard; but that it was she who had made a gentleman 
of him. In order to set about making him a gentle- 
man, she had begun by teazing him till he had turned 
away all his poor relations who worked in the farm : 
she next drew him oft' from keeping company with 
his old acquaintance ; and at last persuaded him to re- 
move from the place where he had got his money. 
Poor woman! she had not sense and virtue enough to 
see how honorable it is for a man to raise himself in 
the world by fair means, and then to help forward his 
poor relations and friends; engaging their services by 
his kindness, and endeavoring to turn his own ad- 
vancement in life to the best account, that of making 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 9 

it the instrument of assisting those who had a natural 
claim to his protection. 

Mrs. Bragwell was an excellent mistress, according 
to her own notions of excellence ; for no one could 
say she ever lost an opportunity of scolding a servant, 
or was ever guilty of the weakness of overlooking a 
fault. Toward her two daughters her behavior was 
far otherwise. In them she could see nothing but 
perfections, but her extravagant fondness for these 
girls was full as much owing to pride as to affectation. 
She was bent on making a family, and having found 
out that she was too ignorant, and too much trained 
to the habits of getting money, ever to hope to make 
a figure herself, she looked to her daughters as the 
persons who were to raise the family of the Bragwells; 
and to this hope she foolishly submitted to any drudge- 
ry for their sakes, and bore every kind of impertinence 
from them. 

The first wish of her heart was to set them above 
their neighbors ; for she used to say, what was the 
use of having substance, if her daughters might not 
carry themselves above girls who had nothing ? To 
do her justice, she herself would be about early and 
late to see that the business of the house was not neg- 
lected. She had been bred to great industry, and 
continued to work when it was no longer necessary, 
both from early habit, and the desire of heaping up 
money for her daughters. Yet her whole notion of 
gentility was, that it consisted in being rich and idle ; 
and, though she was willing to be a drudge herself, 
she resolved to make her daughters gentlewomen on 
this principle. To be well dressed, to eat elegantly, 
and to do nothing, or nothing of which is of any use, 
was what she fancied distinguished people in genteel 
life. And this is too common a notion of a fine edu- 
cation among a certain class ; they do not esteem 
things by their use, but by their show. They estimate 
the value of their children’s education by the money 
it costs, and not by the knowledge and goodness it 


10 


RURAL TALES. 


bestows. People of this stamp often take a pride in 
the expense of learning, instead 01 taking pleasure in 
the advantages of it. And the silly vanity of letting 
others see that they can afford anything, often sets 
parents on letting their daughters learn not only things 
of no use, but things which may be really hurtful in 
their situation; either by setting them above their 
proper duties, or by taking up their time in a way in- 
consistent with them. 

Mrs. Bragwell sent her daughters to a boarding- 
school, where she instructed them to hold up their 
heads as high as anybody ; to have more spirit than 
to be put upon by any one ; never to be pitiful about 
money, but rather to show that they could afford to 
spend with the best ; to keep company with the rich- 
est and most fashionable girls in the school, and to 
make no acquaintance with farmers’ daughters. 

They came home at the usual age of leaving school, 
with a large portion of vanity grafted on their native 
ignorance. The vanity was added but the ignorance 
was not taken away. Of religion they could not pos- 
sibly learn anything, since none was taught, for at 
that place Christianity was considered as a part of ed- 
ucation which belonged only to charity-schools. They 
went to church indeed once a Sunday, yet effectually 
to counteract any benefit such an attendance might 
produce, it was the rule of the school that they should 
use only French prayer-books; of course, such su- 
perficial scholars as the Miss Bragwells would always 
be literally praying in an unknown tongue ; while 
girls of better capacity and more industry would in- 
fallibly be picking out the nominative case, the verb, 
and participle of a foreign language, in the solemn act 
of kneeling before the Father of Spirits, “who 
searcheth the hearts and trietli the reins.” During 
the remainder of the Sunday they learned their world- 
ly tasks, all except actual needlework, which omission 
alone marked the distinction of Sunday from other 
days ; and the governess being a F rench Roman Cath- 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


11 


olio, it became a doubtful point with some people, 
whether her zeal or her negligence in the article of 
religion would be most to the advantage of her pupils. 
Of knowledge the Miss Bragwells had got just enough 
to laugh at their fond parents’ rustic manners and vul- 
gar language, and just enough taste to despise and 
ridicule every girl who was not as vainly dressed as 
themselves. 

The mother had been comforting herself for the 
heavy expense of their bringing up, by looking forward 
to the pleasure of seeing them become fine ladies, and 
the pride of marrying them above their station ; and 
to this hope she constantly referred in all her conver- 
sations with them ; assuring them that all her happi- 
ness depended on their future elevation. 

Their father hoped, with far more judgment, that 
they would be a comfort to him both in sickness and 
in health. He had had no learning himself, and could 
write but poorly, and owed what skill he had in fig- 
ures to his natural turn of business. He reasonably 
hoped that his daughters, after all the money he had 
spent on them, would now write his letters and keep 
his accounts. And as he was now and then laid up 
with a fit of the gout, he was enjoying the prospect 
of having two affectionate children to nurse him, as 
well as two skilful assistants to relieve him. 

When they came home, however, he had the mor- 
tification to find, that though he had two smart showy 
ladies to visit him, he had neither dutiful daughters to 
nurse him, nor faithful stewards to keep his books, 
nor prudent children to manage his house. They 
neither soothed him by their kindness when he was 
sick, nor helped him by their industry when he was 
busy. They thought the maid might take care of 
him in the gout as she did before ; for they fancied 
that nursing was a coarse and servile employment : 
and as to their skill in ciphering, he soon found, to 
his cost, that though they knew how to upend both 
pounds, shillings, and pence, yet they did not know 


12 


RURAL TALES. 


how so well to cast them up. Indeed it is to be re- 
gretted that women in general, especially in the mid- 
dle class, are so little grounded in so indispensable, 
solid, and valuable an acquirement as arithmetic. 

Mrs. Bragwell being one day very busy in preparing 
a great dinner for the neighbors, ventured to request 
her daughters to assist in making the pastry. They 
asked her with a scornful smile, whether she had sent 
them to a boarding-school to learn to cook ; and 
added, that they supposed she would expect them 
next to make hasty-puddings for the haymakers. So 
saying, they coolly marched off to their music. When 
the mother found her girls were too polite to be of 
any use, she would take comfort in observing how 
her parlor was set out with their filagree and flowers, 
their embroidery and cut paper. They spent the 
morning in bed, the noon in dressing, the evening at 
the harpsichord, and the night in reading novels. 

With all these fine qualifications it is easy to sup- 
pose, that as they despised their sober duties, they no 
less despised their plain neighbors. When they could 
not get to a horse-race, a petty ball, or a strolling play, 
with some company as idle and as smart as them- 
selves, they were driven for amusement to the circu- 
lating library. Jack, the ploughboy, on whom they 
had now put a livery-jacket, was employed half his 
time in trotting backward and forward with the most 
wretched trash the little neighboring bookshop could 
furnish. The choice was often left to Jack, who 
could not read, but who had general orders to bring 
all the new things, and a great many of them. 

It was a misfortune, that at the school at which 
they had been bred, and at some others, there was no 
system of education which had any immediate refer- 
ence to the station of life to which the girls chiefly 
belonged. As persons in the middle line, for want of 
that acquaintance with books, and with life and man- 
ners, which the great possess, do not always see the 
connexion between remote consequences and their 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 13 

causes, the evils of a corrupt and inappropriate sys- 
tem of education do not strike them so forcibly; and 
provided they can pay for it , which is made the grand 
criterion between the fit and the unfit, they are too 
little disposed to consider the value, or rather the 
worthlessness, of the thing which is paid for : but 
literally go on to give their money for that which is not 
bread. 

Their subsequent course of reading serves to es- 
tablish all the errors of their education. Instead of 
such books as might help to confirm and strengthen 
them in all the virtues of their station, in humility, 
economy, meekness, contentment, self-denial, and in- 
dustry ; the studies now adopted are, by a graft on 
the old stock, made to grow on the habits acquired at 
school. Of those novels and plays which are so ea- 
gerly devoured by persons of this description, there is 
perhaps scarce one which is not founded upon princi- 
ples which would lead young women of the middle 
ranks to be discontented with their station. It is rank 
— it is eleganee — it is beauty — it is sentimental feel- 
ings — it is sensibility — it is some needless, or some 
superficial, or some quality hurtful, even in that fash- 
ionable person to whom the author ascribes it, which 
is the ruling principle. This quality transferred into 
the heart and the conduct of an illiterate woman in 
an inferior station, becomes absurdity, becomes sinful- 
ness. 

Things were in this state in the family we are de- 
scribing, or rather growing worse ; for idleness and 
vanity are never at a stand; when these two wealthy 
farmers, Bragwell and Worthy, met at Weyhill fair, 
as was said before. After many hearty salutations 
had passed between them, it was agreed that Mr. 
Bragwell should spend the next day with his old 
friend, whose house was not many miles distant. 
Bragwell invited himself in the following manner: 
“We have not had a comfortable day’s chat for 

2 


14 


RURAL TALES. 


years,” said he, “ and as I am to look at a drove of 
lean beasts in your neighborhood, l will take a bed 
at your house, and we will pass the evening in deba- 
ting as we used to do. You know I always loved a 
bit of an argument, and am not reckoned to make the 
worst figure at our club: I had not, to be sure, such 
good learning as you had, because your father was a 
parson, and you got it for nothing : but I can bear my 
part pretty well for all that. When any man talks to 
me about his learning, I ask if it has helped him to a 
good estate ; if he says no, then I would not give him 
a rush for it ; for of what use is all the learning in 
the world, if it does not make a man rich ? But, as I 
was saying, I will come and see you to-morrow ; but 
now don’t let your wife put herself in a fuss for me : 
don’t alter your own plain way ; for 1 am not proud, 
I assure you, nor above my old friends; though, I 
thank God, 1 am pretty well in the world.” 

To all this flourishing speech Mr. Worthy coolly 
answered, that certainly worldly prosperity ought 
never to make any man proud, since it is God who 
giveth strength to get riches, and without his bles- 
sing, His in vainio rise up early , and to eat the bread oj 
carefulness. 

About the middle of the next day Mr. Bragwell 
reached Mr. Worthy’s neat and pleasant dwelling. 
He found everything in it the reverse of his own. It 
had not so many ornaments, but it had more comforts. 
And when he saw his friend’s good old-fashioned 
arm-chair in a warm corner, he gave a sigh to think 
how his own had been banished to make room for his 
daughters’ pianoforte. Instead of made flowers in 
glass cases, and tea-chests and screens too fine to be 
used, which he saw at home, and about which he 
was cautioned, and scolded as often as he came near 
them — his daughters watching his motions with the 
same anxiety as they would have watched the motions 
of a cat in a china shop — instead of this, I say, he 
saw some neat shelves of good books for the service 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


15 


of the family, and a small medicine chest for the ben- 
efit of the poor. 

Mrs. Worthy and her daughters had prepared a 
plain but neat and good dinner. The tarts were so 
excellent, that Bragwell felt a secret kind of regret 
that his own daughters were too genteel to do any- 
thing so very useful. Indeed, he had been always 
unwilling to believe that anything which was very 
proper and very necessary, could be so extremely vul- 
gar and unbecoming as his daughters were always de- 
claring it to be. And bis late experience of the little 
comfort he found at home, inclined him now still 
more strongly to suspect that things were not so 
right there as he had been made to suppose. But it 
was in vain to speak ; for his daughters constantly 
stopped his mouth by a favorite saying of theirs, 
which equally indicated affectation and vulgarity, that 
it was better to be out of the world than out of the 
fashion. 

Soon after dinner the women went out to their sev- 
eral employments; and Mr. Worthy being left alone 
with his guest, the following discourse took place : 

Bragwell. You have a couple of sober, pretty- 
looking girls, Worthy ; but I wonder they don’t tiff 
off a little more. Why, my girls have as much fat 
and flour on their heads as would half maintain my 
reapers in suet-pudding. 

Worthy. Mr. Bragwell, in the management of my 
family, I don’t consider what I might afford only, 
though that is one great point; but I consider also what 
is needful and becoming in a man of my station ; for 
there are so many useful ways of laying out money, 
that I feel as if it were a sin to spend one unnecessary 
shilling. Having had the blessing of a good educa- 
tion myself, I have been able to give the like advan- 
tage to my daughters. One of the best lessons I 
have taught them is, to know themselves ; and one 
proof that they have learned this lesson is, that they 
are not above any of the duties of their station. They 


16 


RURAL TALES. 


read and write well, and when my eyes are bad, they 
keep my accounts in a veiy pretty manner. If I had 
put them to learn what you call genteel things , these 
might either have been of no use to them, and so 
both time and money thrown away ; or they might 
proved worse than nothing to them by leading them 
into wrong notions, and wrong company. Though 
we do not wish them to do the laborious parts of the 
dairy work, yet they always assist their mother in the 
management of it. As to their appearance, they are 
every day nearly as you see them now, and on Sun- 
day they are very neatly dressed, but it is always in a 
decent and modest way. There are no lappets, 
fringes, furbelows, and tawdry ornaments ; no trains, 
turbans, and flounces, fluttering about my cheese and 
butter. And I should feel no vanity, but much mor- 
tification, if a stranger seeing Farmer Worthy’s daugh- 
ters at church should ask who those fine ladies were. 

Bragwell. Now I own I should like to have such 
a question asked concerning my daughters. I like to 
make people stare and envy. It makes one feel one- 
self somebody. I never feel the pleasure of having 
handsome things so much as when I see they raise 
curiosity; and enjoy the envy of others as a fresh 
evidence of my own prosperity. But as to yourself, 
to be sure, you best know what you can afford ; and 
indeed there is some difference between your daugh- 
ters and the Miss Bragwells. 

Worthy . F<5r my part, before I engage in any ex- 
pense, I always ask myself these two short questions ; 
First, can I afford it ? — Secondly, is it proper for me? 

Bragwell. Do you so ? Now I own I ask myself 
but one ; for if 1 find I can afford it, I take care to 
make it proper for me. If I can pay for a thing, no 
one has a right to hinder me from having it. 

Worthy. Certainly. But a man’s own prudence, 
his love of propriety and sense of duty, ought to pre- 
vent him from doing an improper thing, as effectually 
as if there were somebody to hinder him. 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


17 


Brag well. Now, l tiling a man is a fool who is hin- 
dered from having anything he has a mind to; unless 
indeed, he is in want of money to pay for it. I am no 
friend to debt. A poor man must want on. 

Worthy. But I hope my children have not learnt to 
want anything which is not proper for them. They 
are very industrious ; they attend to business all day, 
and in the evening they sit down to their work and a 
good book. I take care that neither their reading nor 
conversation shall excite any r desires or tastes unsuita- 
ble to their condition. They have little vanity, be- 
cause the kind of knowledge they have is of too sober 
a sort to raise admiration; and from that vanity which 
attends a little smattering of frivolous accomplishments, 
I have secured them, by keeping them in total ignor- 
ance of all such. I think they’ live in the fear of God. 
I trust they are humble and pious, and I am sure they 
seem cheerful and happy. If I am sick, it is pleasant 
to see them dispute which shall wait upon me ; for 
they say the maid can not do it so tenderly as them- 
selves. 

This part of the discourse staggered Bragwell. An 
involuntary tear rushed into his eye. Vain as he was, 
he could not help feeling what a difference a religious 
and a worldly education made on the heart, and how 
much the former regulated even the natural temper. 
Another thing which surprised him was, that these 
girls living a life of domestic piety, without any pub- 
lic diversions, should be so very cheerful and happy ; 
while his own daughters, who were never contradict- 
ed, and were indulged with continual amusements, 
were always sullen and ill-tempered. That they who 
were more humored should be less grateful, and they 
who were more amused less happy, disturbed him 
much. He envied Worthy the tenderness of his 
children, though he would not own it, but turned it 
off thus : 

Bragwell. But my girls are too smart to make mops 
of, that is the truth. Though ours is a lonely village, 

2 * 


18 


RURAL TALES. 


it is wonderful to see how soon they get the fashions. 
What with the descriptions in the magazines, and the 
pictures in the pocket-books, they have them in a 
twinkling; and outdo their patterns all to nothing. 
I used to take in the Country Journal, because it was 
useful enough to see how oats went, the time of high 
water, and the price of stocks. But when my ladies 
came home, forsooth, I was soon wheedled out of that, 
and forced to take a London paper, that tells a deal 
about the caps and feathers, and all the trumpery of 
the quality, and the French dress, and the French 
undress. When I want to know what hops are a bag, 
they are snatching the paper to see what violet soap 
is a pound. And as to the daily, they never care how 
cow’s milk goes, as long as they can get some stuff 
which they call milk of roses. Seeing them disputing 
violently the other day about cream and butter, I 
thought it a sign they were beginning to care for the 
farm, till I found it was cold cream for the hands, and 
jessamine butter for the hair. 

Worthy. But do your daughters never read? 

Bragwell. Read ! I believe they do too. Why our 
Jack, the plough-boy, spends half his time in going 
to a shop in our market town, where they let out 
books to read with marble covers. And they sell 
paper with all manner of colors on the edges, and gim- 
cracks, and powder-puffs, and wash-balls, and cards 
without any pips, and everything in the world that’s 
genteel and of no use. ’Twas but the other day I 
met Jack with a basketful of these books ; so having 
some time to spare, I sat down to see a little what they 
were about. 

Worthy. Well, I hope you there found what was 
likely to improve your daughters, and teach them the 
true use of time. 

Bragwell. O, as to that, you are pretty much out. 
I could make neither head nor tail of it; it was neither 
fish, flesh, nor good red-herring : it was all about my 
lord, and Sir Harry, and the captain. But I never met 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


19 


with such nonsensical fellows in my life. Their talk 
was no more like that of my old landlord, who was a 
lord you know, nor the captain of our fensibles, than 
chalk is like cheese. I was fairly taken in at first, 
and began to think I had got hold of a godly book ; 
for there was a deal about hope and despair, and death, 
and heaven, and angels, and torments, and everlasting 
happiness. But when I got a little on, I found there 
was no meaning in all these words, or if any, it was a 
bad meaning. Eternal misery, perhaps, only meant 
a moment’s disappointment about a bit of a letter; and 
everlasting happiness meant two people talking non- 
sense together for five minutes. In short, I never met 
with such a pack of lies. The people talk such wild 
gibberish as no folks in their sober senses ever did 
talk; and the things that happen to them, are not like 
the things that even happen to me or any of my ac- 
quaintance. They are at home one minute, and be- 
yond sea the next : beggars to-day, and lords to- 
morrow; waiting maids in the morning, and dutch- 
esses at night. Nothing happens in a natural gradual 
way, as it does at home ; they grow rich by the stroke 
of a wand, and poor by the magic of a word ; the dis- 
inherited orphan of this hour is the overgrown heir of 
the next : now a bride and bridegroom turn out to be 
brother and sister, and the brother and sister prove to 
be no relations at all. You and I, Master Worthy, 
have worked hard many years, and think it very well 
to have scraped a trifle of money together ; you, a few 
hundreds I suppose, and I a few thousands. But one 
would think every man in these books had the bank 
of England in his ’scrutoire. Then there is another 
thing which I never met with in true life. We think 
it pretty well, you know, if one has got one thing, and 
another has got another. I will tell you how I mean. 
You are reckoned sensible, our parson is learned, the 
squire is rich, I am rather generous, one of your 
daughters is pretty, and both mine are genteel. But 
in these books (except here and there one, whom they 


20 


RURAL TALES. 


make worse than Satan himself) every man and wo- 
man’s child of them, are all wise, and witty,, and gene- 
rous, and rich, and handsome, and genteel; and all to 
the last degree. Nobody is middling, or good in one 
thing, and bad in another, like my live acquaintance; 
but it is all up to the skies, or down to the dirt. I had 
rather read Tom Hickathrift, or Jack the Giant Killer, 
a thousand times. 

Worthy. You have found out, Mr. Bragwell, that 
many of these books are ridiculous; I will go farther, 
and say, that to me they appear wicked also : and I 
should account the reading of them a great mischief, 
especially to people in middling and low life, if 1 only 
took into the account the great loss of time such read- 
ing causes, and the aversion it leaves behind for what 
is more serious and solid. But this, though a bad 
part, is not the worst. These books give false views of 
human life. They teach a contempt for humble and do- 
mestic duties; for industry, frugality, and retirement. 
Want of youth and beauty is considered in them as 
ridiculous. Plain people, like you and me, are objects 
of contempt. Parental authority is set at naught. 
Nay, plots and contrivances against parents and guar- 
dians, fill half the volumes. They consider love as 
the great business of human life, and even teach that 
it is impossible for this love to be regulated or restrain- 
ed; and to the indulgence of this passion every duty 
is therefore sacrificed. A country life, with a kind 
mother or a sober aunt, is described as a state of in 
tolerable misery : and one would be apt to fancy from 
their painting, that a country house is a prison, and a 
worthy father the jailer. Vice is set off with every 
ornament which can make it pleasing and amiable; 
while virtue and piety are made ridiculous, by tacking 
to them something that is silly or absurd. Crimes 
which would be considered as hanging matter at our 
county assizes — at least if I were a juryman, 1 should 
bring in the whole train of heroes, Guilty — Death — 
are here made to the appearance of virtue, by being 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 21 

mixed with some wild flight of unnatural generosity. 
Those crying sins, adultery, gaming, duels, and 
self-murder, are made so familiar, and the wicked- 
ness of them is so disguised by fine words and soft 
descriptions, that even innocent girls get loose to their 
abhorrence, and talk with complacency, of things which 
should not be so much as named by them. 

I should not have said so much on this mischief 
(continued Mr. Worthy) from which I dare say, great 
folks fancy people in our station are safe enough, if I 
do not know and lament that this corrupt reading is 
now got down even among some of the lowest class. 
And it is an evil which is spreading every day. Poor 
industrious girls, who get their bread by the needle or 
the loom, spend half the night in listening to these 
books. Thus the labor of one girl is lost, and the 
minds of the rest are corrupted ; for though their hands 
are employed in honest industry, which might help to 
preserve them from a life of sin, yet their hearts are at 
the very time polluted by scenes and descriptions 
which are too likely to plunge them into it: and when 
their vain weak heads compare the soft and delicious 
lives of the heroines in the book, with their own mean 
garb and hard labor, the effect is obvious ; and I think 
I do not go too far when I say, that the vain and showy 
manner in which young women, who have to work 
for their bread, have taken to dress themselves, added 
to the poison they draw from these books, contribute 
together to bring them to destruction, more than 
almost any other cause. Now tell me, do not you 
think these wild books will hurt your daughters ? 

Bragwell. Why I do think they are grown full of 
schemes, and contrivances and whispers, that’s the 
truth on’t. Everything is a secret. They always 
seem to be on the look out for something, and when 
nothing comes on’t, then they are sulky and disap- 
pointed. They will keep company with their equals: 
they despise trade and farming ; and I own I'm for the 
stuff. I should not like them to marry any but a man 


22 


RURAL TALES. 


of substance, if he was ever so smart. Now they will 
hardly sit down with a substantial country dealer. 
But if they hear of a recruiting party in our market- 
town, on goes the finery — off they are. Some flimsy 
excuse is patched up. They want something at the 
book-shop or the milliner’s : because I suppose there 
is a chance for some Jack-a-napes of an ensign may 
be there buying sticking-plaster. In short, I do grow 
a little uneasy ; for I should not like to see all I have 
saved thrown away on a knapsack. 

So saying, they both rose and walked out to view 
the farm. Mr. Bragwell affected greatly to admire 
the good order of everything he saw ; but never forgot 
to compare it with something larger, and handsomer, 
or better of his own. It was easy to see that self was 
his standard of perfection in everything. All he him- 
self possessed gained some increased value in his eyes 
from being his ; and in surveying the property of his 
friend, he derived food for his vanity, from things 
which seemed least likely to raise it. Every appear- 
ance of comfort, of success, of merit, in anything which 
belonged to Mr. Worthy led him to speak of some 
superior advantage of his own of the same kind : and 
it was clear that the chief part of the satisfaction he 
felt in walking over the farm of his friend, was caused 
by thinking how much larger his own was. 

Mr. Worthy, w r ho felt a kindness for him, which all 
his vanity could not cure, was always on the watch 
how to turn their talk on some useful point. And 
whenever people resolve to go into company with this 
view, it is commonly their own fault, if some oppor- 
tunity of turning it to account does not offer. 

He saw Bragwell was intoxicated with pride, and 
undone by success ; and that his family was in the 
high road to ruin through mere prosperity. He 
thought that if some means could be found to open 
his eyes on his own character, to which he was now 
totally blind, it might be of the utmost service to him. 
The more Mr. Worthy reflected, the more he wished 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


23 


to undertake this kind office. He was not sure that 
Mr. Bragwell would bear it, but he was very sure it 
was his duty to attempt it. As Mr. Worthy was very 
humble himself, he had great patience and forbear- 
ance with the faults of others. He felt no pride at 
having escaped the errors into which they had fallen, 
for he knew who it was had made him to differ. He 
remembered that God had given him many advanta- 
ges ; a pious father and a religious education ; this 
made him humble under a sense of his own sins, and 
charitable toward the sins of others, who had not the 
same privileges. 

Just as he was going to try to enter into a very se- 
rious conversation with his guest, he was stopped by 
the appearance of his daughter, who told them sup- 
per was ready. 


II. A CONVERSATION. 

Soon after supper Mrs. Worthy left the room with 
her daughters, at her husband’s desire ; for it was his 
intention to speak more plainly to Bragwell than was. 
likely to be agreeable to him to hear before others. 
The two farmers being seated at their little table, each 
in a handsome old-fashioned great chair, Bragwell 
began. 

“It is a great comfort, Neighbor Worthy, at a cer- 
tain time of life to be got above the world : my notion 
is, that a man should labor hard the first part of his 
days, that he may then sit down and enjoy himself 
the remainder. Now, though J. hate boasting, yet as 
you are my oldest friend, I am about to open my 
heart to you. Let me tell you then I reckon I have 
worked as hard as any man in my time, and that I 
now begin to think I have a right to indulge a little. 
I have got my money with character, and I mean to 
spend it with credit. I pay every one his own, I set 


24 


RURAL TALES. 


a good example, I keep to my church, I serve God, I 
honor the king, and I obey the laws of the land.” 

“ This is doing a great deal indeed,” replied Mr. 
Worthy : “ but,” added he, “ I doubt that more goes 
to the making up all these duties than men are com- 
monly aware of. Suppose then that you and I talk 
the matter over coolly ; we have the evening before 
us. What if we sit down together as two friends and 
examine one another.” 

Bragwell, who loved argument, and who was not a 
little vain both of his sense and his morality, accepted 
the challenge, and gave his word that he would take 
in good part anything that should be said to him. 
Worthy was about to proceed, when Bragwell inter- 
rupted him for a moment, by saying — “ But stop, 
friend, before we begin I wish you would remember 
that we have had a long walk, and I want a little re- 
freshment ; have you no liquor that is stronger than 
this cider ? I am afraid it will give me a fit of the 
gout.” 

Mr. Worthy immediately produced a bottle of wine, 
and another of spirits ; saying, that though he drank 
neither spirits nor even wine himself, yet his wife al- 
ways kept a little of each as a provision in case of 
sickness or accidents. 

Farmer Bragwell preferred the brandy, and began 
to taste it. “ Why,” said he, “ this is no better than 
English; I always use foreign myself.” “ I bought 
this for foreign,” said Mr. Worthy. “ No, no, it is 
English spirits I assure you ; but I can put you into 
a way to get foreign nearly as cheap as English.” Mr. 
Worthy replied that he thought that was impossible. 

Bragwell. O no ; there are ways and means — a 
word to the wise — there is an acquaintance of mine 
that lives upon the south coast — you are a particular 
friend and I will get you half-a-dozen gallons for a 
trifle. 

Worthy. Not if it be smuggled, Mr. Bragwell, 
though 1 should get it for sixpence a bottle. “Ask 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


25 


no questions,” said the other, “ I never say anything 
to any one, and who is the wiser?” “And so this is 
your way of obeying the laws of the land,” said Mr. 
Worthy — “ here is a fine specimen of your morality.” 

Bragwell. Come, come, don’t make a fuss about 
trifles. If every one did it indeed it would be another 
thing ; but as to my getting a little good brandy cheap, 
why that can’t hurt the revenue much. 

Worthy. Pray, Mr. Bragwell, what should you think 
of a man who would dip his hand into a bag and take 
out a few guineas? 

Bragwell. Think ? why I think that he should be 
hanged, to be sure. 

Worthy. But suppose that bag stood in the king’s 
treasury ? 

Bragwell. In the king’s treasury ! worse and worse ! 
What, rob the king’s treasury ! Well, I hope if any 
one has done it, the robber will be taken up and exe- 
cuted ; for I suppose we shall all be taxed to pay the 
damage. 

Worthy. Very true. If one man takes money out 
of the treasury, others must be obliged to pay the 
more into it. But what think you if the fellow 
should be found to have stopped some money in its 
way to the treasury, instead of taking it out of the bag * 
after it got there ? 

Bragwell. Guilty, Mr. Worthy; it is all the same, 
in my opinion. If I were judge I would hang him 
without benefit of clergy. 

Worthy. Hark ye, Mr. Bragwell, he that deals in 
smuggled brandy is the man who takes to himself the 
king’s money in its way to the treasury, and he as 
much robs the government as if he dipped his hands 
into a bag of guineas in the treasury-chamber. It 
comes to the same thing exactly. Here Brag- 
well seemed a little offended, and exclaimed — “ What, 
Mr. Worthy, do you pretend to say I am not an hon- 
est man because I like to get my brandy as cheap as I 
can ? and because I like to save a shilling to my fam- 

3 


26 


RURAL TALES. 


ily ? Sir, I repeat it ; I do my duty to God and my 
neighbor. I say the Lord’s prayer most days, I go 
to church on Sundays, I repeat my creed, and keep 
the ten commandments ; and though I now and then 
get a little brandy cheap, yet upon the whole, I will 
venture to say, I do as much as can be expected of 
any man, and more than the generality.” 

Worthy. Come, then, since you say you keep the 
commandments, you can not be offended if I ask you 
whether you understand them. 

Bragwell. To be sure I do. I dare say I do : 
look’ye, Mr. Worthy, I don’t pretend to much read- 
ing, I was not bred to it as you were. If my father 
had been a parson, I fancy I should have made as 
good a figure as some other folks, but I hope good 
sense and a good heart may teach a man his duty 
without much scholarship. 

Worthy. To come to the point ; let us now go 
through the ten commandments, and let us take along 
with us those explanations of them which our Savior 
gave us in his sermon on the mount. 

Bragwell. Sermon on the mount ! why the ten 
commandments are in the 20th chapter of Exodus. 
Come, come, Mr. Worthy, I know where to find the 
commandments as well as you do ; for it happens that 
I am church-warden, and I can see from the altar- 
piece where the ten commandments are, without your 
telling me, for my pew directly faces it. 

Worthy. But I advise you to read the sermon on 
the mount, that you may see the full meaning of 
them. 

Bragwell. What! do you want to make me be- 
lieve there are two ways of keeping the command- 
ments? 

Worthy. No ; but there may be two ways of un- 
derstanding them. 

Bragiuell. Well, I am not afraid to be put to the 
proof ; I defy any man to say I do not keep at least 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 27 

all the first four that are on the left side of the altar- 
piece. 

Worthy. If you can prove that, I shall be more 
ready to believe you observe those of the other table; 
for he who does his duty to God, will be likely to do 
his duty to his neighbor also. 

Bragwell. What! do you think that I serve two 
Gods? Do you think then that I make graven ima- 
ges, and worship stocks or stones ? Do you take me 
for a papist or an idolater ? 

Worthy. Don’t triumph quite so soon, Master Brag- 
well. Pray is there nothing in the world you prefer 
to God, and thus make an idol of? Do you not love 
your money, or your lands, or your crops, or your 
cattle, or your own will, or your own way, rather 
better than you love God ? Do you never think of 
these with more pleasure than you think of him, and 
follow them more eagerly than your religious duty ? 

Bragwell. O ! there’s nothing about that in the 20th 
chapter of Exodus. 

Worthy. But Jesus Christ has said, “ He that lov- 
eth father or mother more than me is not worthy of 
• me.” Now it is certainly a man’s duty to love his 
father and his mother ; nay, it would be wicked not 
to love them, and yet we must not love even these 
more than our Creator and our Savior. Well, I think 
on this principle, your heart pleads guilty to the 
breach of the first and second commandments ; let us 
proceed to the third. 

Bragwell. That is about swearing, is it not ? 

Mr. Worthy, who had observed Bragwell guilty of 
much profaneness in using the name of his Maker 
(though all such offensive words have been avoided 
in writing this history), now told him that he had 
been waiting the whole day for an opportunity to re- 
prove him for his frequent breach of the third com- 
mandment. 

“Good L — d! I break the third commandment!” 
said Bragwell ; “no indeed, hardly ever, I once used 


28 


RURAL TALES. 


to swear a little to be sure, but I vow I never do it 
now, except now and then when I happen to be in a 
passion : and in such a case, why, good G — d, you 
know the sin is with those who provoke me, and not 
with me ; but, upon my soul, I don’t think I have 
sworn an oath these three months, no not I, faith, as I 
hope to be saved.” 

Worthy. And yet you have broken this holy law 
not less than five or six times in the last speech you 
have made. 

Bragwell. Lord bless me ! Sure you mistake. 
Good heavens, Mr. Worthy, I call G — d to witness, I 
have neither cursed nor swore since I have been in 
the house. 

Worthy. Mr. Bragwell, this is the way in which 
many who call themselves very good sort of peo- 
ple deceive themselves. What! is it no profana- 
tion of the name of your Maker to use it lightly, ir- 
reverently, and familiarly as you have done ? Our 
Savior has not only told us not to swear by the imme- 
diate name of God, but he has said, “ Swear not at 
all, neither by heaven nor by the earth,” and in order 
to hinder our inventing any other irreligious excla- 
mations or expressions, he has even added, “ but let 
your communications be yea, yea, and nay, nay ; for 
whatsoever is more than this simple affirmation and 
denial cometh of evil.” Nay more, so greatly do I 
reverence that high and holy name, that I think even 
some good people have it too frequently in their 
mouths; and that they might convey the idea without 
the word. 

Bragwell. Well, well, I must take a little more 
care, I believe. I vow to Heaven I did not know there 
had been so much harm in it ; but my daughters sel- 
dom speak without using some of these words, and 
yet they wanted to make me believe the other day that 
it was monstrous vulgar to swear. 

Worthy. Women, even gentlewomen, who ought 
to correct this evil habit in their fathers, and husbands, 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


29 


and children, are too apt to encourage it by their own 
practice. And indeed they betray the profaneness of 
their own minds also by it ; for none who venerate 
the holy name of God, can either profane it in this 
manner themselves, or hear others do so without be- 
ing exceedingly pained at it. 

Bragwell . Well, since you are so hard upon me, I 
believe I must e’en give up this point — so let us pass 
on to the next, and here I tread upon sure ground; 
for as sharp as you are upon me, you can’t accuse me 
of being a sabbath-breaker, since I go to church ev- 
ery Sunday of my life, unless on some very extraor- 
dinary occasion. 

Worthy. F or those occasions the gospel allows, by 
saying, “ The sabbath was made for man, and not man 
for the sabbath.” Our own sickness, or attending on 
the sickness of others, are lawful impediments. 

Bragwell. Yes, and 1 am now and then obliged to 
look at a drove of beasts, or to go a journey, or take 
some medicine, or perhaps some friend may call upon 
me, or it may be very cold, or very hot, or very rainy. 

Worthy. Poor excuses ! Mr. Bragwell. Do you 
call these lawful impediments ? I am afraid they will 
not pass for such on the day of judgment. But how 
is the rest of your Sunday spent? 

Bragwell. O why, I assure you I often go to church 
in the afternoon also, and even if I am ever so sleepy. 

Worthy. And so you finish your nap at church, I 
suppose. 

Bragwell. Why as to that, to be sure we do contrive 
to have something a little nicer than common for din- 
ner on a Sunday : in consequence of which one eats, 
you know a little more than ordinary; and having 
nothing to do on that day, has more leisure to take a 
cheerful glass ; and all these things will make one a 
little heavy you know. 

Worthy. And don’t you take a little ride in the 
morning, and look at your sheep when the weather 
is good; and so fill your mind just before you go to 

3 * 


30 


RURAL TALES. 


church with thought of them ; and when the weather 
is bad, don’t you settle an account ? or write a few 
letters of business after church ? 

Bragwell. I can’t say but I do ; but that is nothing 
to anybody, as long as I set a good example by keep- 
ing to my church. 

Worthy. And how do you pass your Sunday even- 
ings ? 

Bragwell. My wife and daughters go a visiting 
Sunday afternoons. My daughters are glad to get out 
at any rate ; and as to my wife, she says that being 
ready dressed, it is a pity to lose the opportunity : 
besides, it saves her time on a week day ; so then 
you see I have it all my own way, and when I have 
got rid of the ladies, who are ready to faint at the smell 
of tobacco, I can venture to smoke a pipe, and drink 
a sober glass of punch with half a dozen friends. 

Worthy. Which punch being made of smuggled 
brandy, and drunk on the Lord’s-day, and very vain, 
as well as profane and worldly company, you are en- 
abled to break both the law of God, and that of your 
country at a stroke : and I suppose when you are got 
together, you speak of your cattle, or of your crops, 
after which perhaps you talk over a few of your neigh- 
bors’ faults, and then you brag a little of your own 
wealth or your own achievements. 

Bragivell. Why you seem to know us so well, that 
any one would think you had been sitting behind the 
curtain ; and yet you are a little mistaken too ; for I 
think we have hardly said a word for several of our 
last Sundays on anything but politics. 

Worthy. And do you find that you much improve 
your Christian charity by that subject? 

Bragwell. Why to be sure we do quarrel till we are 
very near fighting, that is the worst on’t. 

Worthy. And then you call names, and swear a 
little I suppose. 

Bragwell. Why when one is contradicted and put in 
a passion you know, and when people, especially if 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


31 


they are one’s inferiors, won’t adopt all one’s opinions, 
flesh and blood can’t bear it. 

Worthy. And when all your friends are gone home, 
what becomes of the rest of the evening ? 

Bragwell. That is just as it happens, sometimes 1 
read the newspaper ; and as one is generally most 
tired on the days one does nothing, I go to bed earlier 
on Sundays than on other days, that I may be more 
fit to get up to my business the next morning. 

Worthy. So you shorten Sunday as much as you 
can, by cutting off a bit at both ends, I suppose ; for 
I take it for granted, you lie a little later in the morn- 
ing. 

Bragwell. Come, come, we shan’t get through the 
whole ten to-night, if you stand snubbing one at this 
rate. You may pass over the fifth ; for my father and 
mother have been dead ever since I was a boy, so I am 
clear of that scrape. 

Worthy. There are, however, many relative duties 
included in that commandment ; unkindness to all 
kindred is forbidden. 

Bragwell. O, if you mean my turning off my nephew 
Tom, the ploughboy, you must not blame me for that, 
it was all my wife’s fault. He was as good a lad as 
ever lived to be sure, and my own brother’s son ; but 
my wife could not bear that a boy in a carter’s frock 
should be about the house, calling her aunt. We 
quarrelled like dog and cat about it ; and when he 
was turned away she and I did not speak for a week. 

Worthy. Which was a fresh breach of the com- 
mandment ; a worthy nephew turned out of doors, 
and a wife not spoken to for a week, are no very con- 
vincing proofs of your observance of the fifth com- 
mandment. 

Bragwell. Well, I long to come to the sixth ; for 
3 r ou don’t think I commit murder I hope. 

Worthy. I am not sure of that. 

Bragwell. Murder ! what, I kill anybody ? 

Worthy. Why, the laws of the land, indeed, and the 


32 


RURAL TALES. 


disgrace attending it, are almost enough to keep any 
man from actual murder ; let me ask, however, do you 
never give way to unjust anger, and passion, and re- 
venge ? as for instance, do you never feel your resent- 
ment kindle against some of the politicians who con- 
tradict you on a Sunday night ? and do you never push 
your animosity against somebody that has affronted 
you, further than the occasion can justify ? 

Bragwell. Hark’ee, Mr. Worthy, I am a man of sub- 
stance, and no man shall offend me without my being 
even with him. So as to injuring a man, if he affronts 
me first, there’s nothing but good reason in that. 

Worthy. Very well! only bear in mind that you 
wilfully break this commandment, whether you abuse 
your servant, are angry at your wife, watch for a mo- 
ment to revenge an injury on your neighbor, or even 
wreak your passion on a harmless beast ; for you have 
then the seeds of murder working in your breast ; and 
if there were no law, no gibbet, to check you, and no 
fear of disgrace neither, I am not sure where you 
would stop. 

Bragiuell. Why, Mr. Worthy, you have a strange 
way of explaining the commandments; so you set me 
down for a murderer, merely because 1 bear hatred to 
a man who has done me a hurt, and am glad to do him 
a like injury in my turn. — I am sure I should want spirit 
if I did not. 

Worthy. I go by the Scripture rule, which says, 
“ he that liateth his brother is a murderer and again, 
“pray for them thatdespitefully use you and persecute 
you.” Besides, Mr. Bragwell, you made it a part of 
your boast that you said the Lord’s prayer every day, 
wherein you pray to God to forgive you your trespas 
ses as you forgive them that trespass against you. — 
If therefore you do not forgive them that trespass 
against you, in that case you daily pray that your 
own trespasses may never be forgiven. — Now own the 
truth ; did you last night lie down in a spirit of for- 
giveness and charity with the whole world ! 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


33 


Brag-well. Yes, I am in charity with the whole 
world in general ; because the greater part of it has 
never done me any harm. But I won’t forgive old 
Giles, who broke down my new hedge yesterday for 
firing. — Giles who used to be so honest ! 

Worthy. And yet you expect that God will forgive 
you who have broken down his sacred laws, and have 
so often robbed him of his right — you have robbed 
him of the honor due unto his name — you have robbed 
him of his holy day by doing your own work, and 
finding your own pleasure in it — you have robbed his 
poor, particularly in the instance of Giles, by withhold- 
ing from them, as overseer, such assistance as should 
prevent their being driven to the sin of stealing. 

Bragwell. Why, you are now charging me with 
other men’s sins as well as my own. 

Worthy. Perhaps the sins which we cause other 
men to commit, through injustice, inconsideration, 
and evil example, may dreadfully swell the sum of 
our responsibility in the great day of account. 

Bragwell. Well, come let us make haste and get 
through these commandments. The next is, “ Thou 
shalt not commit adultery.” Thank God, neither I 
nor my family can be said to break the seventh com- 
mandment. 

Worthy. Here again, remember how Christ himself 
hath said, “ whoso looketh on a woman to lust after 
her, hath already committed adultery with her in his 
heart.” These are no farfetched expressions of mine, 
Mr. Bragwell, they are the words of Jesus Christ. I 
hope you will not charge him with having carried 
things too far ; for if you do, you charge him with 
being mistaken in the religion he taught ; and this 
can only be accounted for, by supposing him an im- 
postor. 

Bragwell. Why, upon my word, Mr. Worthy, I 
don’t like these sayings of his which you quote upon 
me so often, and that is the truth of it, and I can’t say 
I feel much disposed to believe them. 


34 


RURAL TALES. 


Worthy. I hope you believe in Jesus Christ. I hope 
you believe that creed of yours, which you also boast- 
ed of repeating so regularly. 

Bragwell. Well, well, I’ll believe anything you say, 
rather than stand quarrelling with you. 

Worthy. I hope then, you will allow, that since it 
is adultery to look at a woman with even an irregular 
thought, it follows from the same rule, that all im- 
modest dress in your daughters, or indecent jests and 
double meanings in yourself ; all loose songs or novels ; 
and all diversions also which have a like dangerous 
tendency, are forbidden by the seventh commandment ; 
for it is most plain from what Christ has said, that it 
takes in not only the act, but the inclination, the de- 
sire, the indulged imagination ; the act is only the last 
and highest degree of any sin ; the topmost round, as 
it were, of a ladder, to which all the lower rounds are 
only as so many steps and stages. 

Bragwell. Strict indeed ! Mr. Worthy ; but let us 
go on to the next ; you won’t pretend to say I steal ; 
Mr. Bragwell, I trust, was never known to rob on the 
highway, to break open his neighbor’s house, or to 
use false weights or measures. 

Worthy. No, nor have you ever been under any 
temptation to do it, and yet there are a thousand ways 
of breaking the eighth commandment besides actual 
stealing. For instance do you never hide the faults 
of the goods you sell, and heighten the faults of those 
you buy ? Do you never take advantage of an igno- 
rant dealer, and ask more for a thing than it is worth ? 
Do you never turn the distressed circumstances of a 
man who has something to sell, to your own unfair 
benefit ; and thus act as unjustly by him as if you had 
stolen ? Do you never cut off a shilling from a work- 
man’s wages, under the pretence which your con- 
science can’t justify ? Do you never pass off an un- 
sound horse for a sound one ? Do you never conceal 
the real rent of your estate from the overseers, and 
thereby rob the poor-rates of their legal due X 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


35 


Bragwell. Pooh i these things are done every day. 
I shan’t go to set up for being better than my neigh- 
bors in these sort of things ; these little matters will 
pass muster — I don’t set up for a reformer — If I am 
as good as the rest of my neighbors, no man can call 
me to account, I am not worse, I trust, and don’t pre- 
tend to be better. 

Worthy. You must be tried hereafter at the bar of 
God, and not by a jury of your fellow creatures ; and 
the Scriptures are given us, in order to show by what 
rule we shall be judged. How many or how few do 
as you do, is quite aside from the question ; Jesus 
Christ has even told us to strive to enter in the strait 
gate ; so that we ought rather to take fright, from our 
being like the common run of people, than to take 
comfort from our being so. 

Bragwell. Come, I don’t like all this close work — 
it makes a man feel I don’t know how — I don’t find 
myself so happy as I did — I don’t like this fishing in 
troubled waters — I’m as merry as the day is long when 
I let these things alone. — I’m glad we are got to the 
ninth. But I suppose I shall be lugged in there too, 
head and shoulders. Any one now who did not know 
me, would really think I was a great sinner, by your 
way of putting things : I don’t bear false witness 
however. 

Worthy. You mean, I suppose, you would not 
swear away any man’s life falsely before a magistrate, 
but do you take equal care not to slander or backbite 
him ? Do you never represent a good action of a man 
you have quarrelled with, as if it were a bad one ? or 
do you never make a bad one worse than it is, by your 
manner of telling it ? Even when you invent no false 
circumstances, do you never give such a color to those 
you relate, as to leave a false impression on the mind 
of the hearers ? Do you never twist a story so as to 
make it tell a little better for yourself, and a little 
worse for your neighbor, than truth and justice war- 
rant ? 


36 


RURAL TALES. 


BragwelL Why, as to that matter, all this is only 
natural. 

Worthy. Ay, much too natural to be right, I doubt. 
Well, now we are got to the last of the command- 
ments. 

Bragwell. Yes, I have run the gauntlet finely 
through them all ; you will bring me in guilty here, 
I suppose, for the pleasure of going through with it ; 
for you condemn without judge or jury, Master Wor- 
thy. 

Worthy. The culprit, I think has hitherto pleaded 
guilty to the evidence brought against him. The 
tenth commandment, however, goes to the root and 
principle of evil, it dives to the bottom of things ; 
this command checks the first rising of sin in the 
heart ; teaches us to strangle it in the birth, as it were, 
before it breaks out in those acts which are forbidden : 
as, for instance, every man covets before he proceeds 
to steal ; nay, many covet, knowing they can do it 
with impunity, who dare not steal, lest they should 
suffer for it. 

Bragwell. Why, look’ee, Mr. Worthy, I don’t un- 
derstand these new-fasliioned explanations ; one should 
not have a grain of sheer goodness left, if everything 
one does is to be fritted away at this rate. I am not, 
I own, quite so good as I thought, but if what you 
say were true, I should be so miserable, that I should 
not know what to do with myself. Why, I tell you, 
all the world may be said to break the commandments 
at this rate. 

Worthy. Very true. All the world, and I myself 
also, are but too apt to break them, if not in the let- 
ter at least in the spirit of them. Why then all the 
world are (as the Scripture expresses it) “ guilty be- 
fore God.” And if guilty, they should own they are 
guilty, and not stand up and justify themselves, as you 
do, Mr. Bragwell. 

Bragwell. Well, according to my notion, I am a 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 37 

very honest man, and honesty is the sum and sub- 
stance of all religion, say I. 

Worthy. All truth, honesty, justice, order, and obe- 
dience grow out of the Christian religion. The true 
Christian acts, at all times, and on all occasions, from 
the pure and spiritual principle of love to God and 
Christ. On this principle, he is upright in his deal- 
ings, true to his word, kind to the poor, helpful to the 
oppressed. In short, if he truly loves God, he must 
do justice, and can't help loving mercy, Christianity is 
a uniform consistent thing. It does not allow us to 
make up for the breach of one part of God’s law, by 
our strictness in observing another. There is no 
sponge in one duty, that can wipe out the spot of 
another sin. 

Bragwell. Well, but at this rate, I should be always 
puzzling and blundering, and should never know for 
certain whether I was right or not ; whereas I am 
now quite satisfied with myself and have no doubts to 
torment me. 

Worthy. One way of knowing whether we really 
desire to obey the whole law of God is this; when 
we find we have as great a regard to that part of it, 
the breach of which does not touch our own inter- 
est, as to that part which does. F or instance, a man 
robs me ; I am in a violent passion with him, and 
when it is said to me, doest thou well to be angry ? 
I answer, I do well. Thou shalt not steal, is a law of 
God, and this fellow has broken that law. Ay, but 
says conscience, ’tis thy own property which is in ques- 
tion. He has broken thy hedge, he has stolen thy 
sheep, he has taken thy purse. Art thou therefore 
sure whether it is his violation of thy property, or of 
God’s law which provokes thee ? I will put a second 
case : I hear another swear most grievously — or I 
meet him coming drunk out of an alehouse ; or I 
find him singing a loose profane song. If I am not 
as much grieved for this blasphemer, or this drunkard,, 
as I was for this robber ; if I do not take the same- 

4 


38 


RURAL TALES. 


pains to bring him to a sense of his sin, which I did 
to bring the robber to justice, “ how dwelleth the 
love of God in me ?” Is it not clear that I value my 
own sheep more than God’s commandments? That 
I prize my purse more than I love my Maker ? In 
short, whenever I find out that I am more jealous for 
my own property than for God’s law ; more careful 
about my own reputation than his honor, I always 
suspect 1 am got upon wrong ground, and that even 
my right actions are not proceeding from a right prin- 
ciple. 

Bragwell. Why, what in the world would you 
have me do ? It would distract me, if I must run up 
every little action to its spring, in this manner. 

Worthy. You must confess that your sins are sins. 
You must not merely call them sins, while you see 
no guilt in them ; but you must confess them so as 
to hate and detest them ; so as to be habitually hum- 
bled under the sense ol them ; so as to trust for salva- 
tion not in your freedom from them, but in the mercy 

a Savior ; and so as to make it the chief business 
of your life to contend against them, and in the main 
to lorsake them. And remember, that if you seek 
for a deceitful gayety, rather than a well grounded 
cheerfulness ; if you prefer a false security to final 
safety, and now go away to your eattle and your farm, 
and dismiss the subject from your thoughts, lest it 
should make you uneasy, I am not sure that this 
simple discourse may not appear against you at the 
day of account, as a fresh proof that you “loved dark- 
ness rather than light,” and so increase your condem- 
nation. 

Mr. Bragwell was more affected than he cared to 
own. He went to bed with less spirits and more 
humility than usual. He did not, however, care to 
let Mr. Worthy see the impression which it had made 
upon him; but at parting next morning, he shook him 
by the hand more cordially than usual, and made him 
promise to return his visit in a short time. 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


39 


HI. — THE VISIT RETURNED. 

Mr. Brag well, when he returned home from his 
visit to Mr. Worthy, as recorded in the second part 
ot this history, found that he was not quite so happy 
as he had formerly been. The discourses of Mr. 
Worthy had broken in not a little on his comfort. 
And he began to suspect that he was not so com- 
pletely in the right as his vanity had led him to 
believe. He seemed also to feel less satisfaction in 
the idle gentility of his own daughters, since he had 
been witness to the simplicity, modesty, and useful- 
ness of those of Mr. Worthy. And he could not help 
seeing that the vulgar violence of his wife did not pro- 
duce so much family happiness at home, as the hum- 
ble piety and quiet diligence of Mrs. Worthy pro- 
duced in the house of his friend. 

Happy would it have been for Mr. Bragwell, if he 
had followed up those new convictions of his own 
mind, which would have led him to struggle against 
the power of evil principles in himself, and to have 
controlled the force of evil habits in his family. But 
his convictions were just strong enough to make him 
uneasy under his errors, without driving him to reform 
them. The slight impression soon wore off, and he 
fell back into his old practices. Still his esteem for 
Mr. Worthy was not at all abated by the plain dealing 
of that honest friend. It is true, he dreaded his 
piercing eye : he felt that his example held out a con- 
stant reproof to himself. Yet such is the force of 
early affection and rooted reverence, that he longed 
to see him at his house. This desire, indeed, as is 
commonly the case, was made up of mixed motives. 
He wished for the pleasure of his friend’s company; 
he longed for that favorite triumph of a vulgar mind, 
an opportunity of showing him his riches; and he 
thought it would raise his credit in the world to have 
a man of Mr. Worthy’s character at his house. 

Mr. Bragwell, it is true, still went on with the same 


40 


RURAL TALES. 


eagerness in gaining money, and the same ostentation 
in spending it. But though he was as covetous as 
ever, he was not quite so sure that it was right to be 
so. While he was actually engaged abroad indeed, 
in transactions with his dealers, he was not very scru- 
pulous about the means by which he got his money; 
and while he was indulging in festivity with his 
friends at home, he was easy enough as to the man- 
ner in which he spent it. But a man can neither be 
making bargains, nor making feasts always ; there 
must be some intervals between these two great objects 
for which worldly men may be said to live ; and in some 
of these intervals the most worldly form perhaps some 
random plans of amendment. And though many a 
one may say in the fulness of enjoyment, “ Soul, take 
thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry yet hardly any 
man, perhaps, allows himself to say, even in the most 
secret moments, I will never retire from business — I 
will never repent — 1 will never think of death — Eter- 
nity shall never come into my thoughts. The most 
that such a one probably ventures to say is, I need not 
repent yet ; I will continue such a sin a little longer ; 
it will be time enough to think on the next world 
when I am no longer fit for the business or the pleas- 
ures of this. 

Such was the case with Bragwell. He set up in 
his mind a general distant sort of resolution, that 
some years hence , when he should be a few years old- 
er , a few thousands richer; when a few more of his 
present schemes should he completed , he would then 
think of altering his course of life. He would then 
certainly set about spending a religious old age ; he 
would reform some practices in his dealings, or, per- 
haps, quit business entirely ; he would think about 
reading good books, and when he had completed such 
a purchase, he would even begin to give something to 
the poor ; but at present he really had little to spare 
for charity. The veiy reason why he should have 
given more was just the cause he assigned for not giv- 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


41 


ing at all, namely the hardness of the times. The 
true grand source of charity, self-denial, never come 
into his head. Spend less that you may save more, 
he would have thought a shrewd maxim enough. 
But spend less that you may spare more , never entered 
into his book of proverbs. 

At length the time came when Mr. Worthy had 
promised to return his visit. It was indeed a little 
hastened by notice that Mr. Bragwell would have in 
the course of the week, a piece of land to sell by 
auction ; and though Mr. Worthy believed the price 
was likely to be above his pocket, yet he knew it was 
an occasion which would be likely to bring the prin- 
cipal farmers of that neighborhood together, some of 
whom he wanted to meet. And it was on this occa- 
sion that Mr. Bragwell prided himself, that he should 
show his neighbors so sensible a man as his dear 
friend Mr. Worthy. 

Worthy arrived at his friend’s house on the Satur- 
day, time enough to see the house, and garden, and 
grounds of Mr. Bragwell by daylight. lie saw with 
pleasure (for he had a warm and generous heart) those 
evident signs of his friend’s prosperity ; but as he 
was a man of sober mind, and was a most exact deal- 
er in truth, he never allowed his tongue the license of 
immodest commendation, which he used to say either 
savored of flattery or envy. Indeed he never rated 
mere worldly things so highly as to bestow upon them 
undue praise. His calm approbation somewhat dis- 
appointed the vanity of Mr. Bragwell, who could not 
help secretly suspecting that his friend, as good a man 
as he was, was not quite free from envy. He felt,, 
however, very much inclined to forgive this jealousy,, 
which he feared the sight of his ample property, and 
handsome habitation must naturally awaken in the 
mind of a man whose own possessions were so infe- 
rior. He practised the usual trick of ordinary and 
vulgar minds, that of pretending himself to find some 
fault with those things which were particularly de- 

4 * 


42 


RURAL TALES. 


serving praise, when he found Worthy disposed to 
pass them over in silence. 

When they came in to supper, he affected to talk 
of the comforts of Mr. Worthy’s little parlor, by way 
of calling his attention to his own large one. He re- 
peated the word snug , as applied to everything at Mr. 
Worthy’s, with the plain design to make comparisons 
favorable to his own more ample domains. He con- 
trived, as he passed by his chair, by a seeming acci- 
dent, to push open the door of a large beaufet in the 
parlor, in which all the finery was most ostentatiously 
set out to view. He protested with a look of satis- 
faction which belied his words, that for his part he did 
not care a farthing for all this trumpery; and then 
smiling and rubbing his hands, added with an air of 
no small importance, what a good thing it is though, 
for people of substance, that the tax on plate is taken 
off. You are a happy man, Mr. Worthy ; you do 
not feel these things ; tax or no tax, it is all the same 
to you. He took care during this speech, by a cast 
of his eye to direct Mr. Worthy’s attention to a great 
profusion of the brightest cups, salvers, and tankards, 
and other shining ornaments, which crowded the 
beaufet. Mr. Worthy gravely answered Mr. Brag- 
well, it was indeed a tax which could not affect so 
plain a man as myself : but as it fell on a mere luxu- 
ry, and therefore could not hurt the poor, I was al- 
ways sorry that it could not be made productive 
enough to be continued. A man in my middling sit- 
uation, who is contented with a good glass of beer, 
poured from a handsome earthen mug, the glass, the 
mug, and the beer, all of English manufacture, will 
be but little disturbed at taxes on plate or on wine ; 
but he will regret, as 1 do, that many of these taxes 
are so much evaded, that new taxes are continually 
brought on to make up the deficiencies of the old. 

During supper the young ladies sat in disdainful 
silence, not deigning to bestow the smallest civility 
-on so plain a man as Mr. Worthy. They left the 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


43 


room with their mamma as soon as possible, being 
impatient to get away to ridicule their father’s old- 
fashioned friend at full liberty. 

Christmas Merry-making ; exemplifying the effects 
of modern education in a farmhouse. 

As soon as they were gone, Mr. Worthy asked 
Bragwell how his family comforts stood, and how his 
daughters, who, he said, were really fine young women, 
went on. “ O, as to that,” replied Bragwell, “ pretty 
much like other men’s handsome daughters, I suppose, 
that is, worse and worse. I really begin to apprehend 
that their fantastical notions have gained such a head, 
that after all the money I have scraped together, I 
shall never get them well married. 

“Betsey has just lost as good an offer as any girl 
could desire ; young Wilson, an honest substantial 
grazier as any in the country. He not only knows 
everything proper for his station, but is pleasing in his 
behavior, and a pretty scholar into the bargain ; he 
reads history-books and voyages of a winter’s evening, 
to his infirm father, instead of going to the card-assem- 
bly in our town ; he neither likes drinking nor sport- 
ing, and is a sort of a favorite with our parson ; because he 
takes in the weekly numbers of a fine Bible with cuts, 
and subscribes to the Sunday-school, and makes a fuss 
about helping the poor; and sets up soup-shops, and 
sells bacon at an underprice, and gives odd bits of 
ground to his laborers to help them in these dear times, 
as they call them ; but I think they are good times 
for us, Mr. Worthy. 

“Well, for all this, Betsey only despised him, and 
laughed at him ; but as he is both handsome, and 
rich, I thought she might come round at last ; and so 
I invited him to come and stay a day or two at Christ- 
mas, when we have always a little sort of merry-ma- 
king here. But it would not do. He scorned to talk 
that palavering stuff which she has been used to in the 
marble-covered books 1 told you of. He told her, in- 


44 


RURAL TALES. 


deed, that it would be the happiness of his heart to 
live with her ; which I own I thought was as much 
as could be expected of any man. But miss had no 
notion of marrying any one who was only desirous of 
living with her. No, no, forsooth, her lover must 
declare himself ready to die for her, which honest 
Wilson was not such a fool as to offer to do. In the 
afternoon, however, he got a little into her favor by 
making out a rebus or two in the Lady’s Diary ; and 
she condescended to say, she did not think Mr. Wilson 
had been so good a scholar ; but he soon spoilt all again. 
We had a little dance in the evening. The young 
man, though he had not much taste for those sort of 
gambols, yet thought he could foot it a little in the 
old-fashioned way. So he asked Betsey to be his 
partner. But when he asked what dance they should 
call, miss drew up her head, and in a strange gibber- 
ish, said she should dance nothing but a Menuet de la 
Cour , and ordered him to call it. Wilson stared, and 
honestly told her she must call it herself ; for he could 
neither spell nor pronounce such outlandish words, 
nor assist in such an outlandish performance. I burst 
out a laughing, and told him, I supposed it something 
like questions and commands ; and if so, that was 
much merrier than dancing. Seeing her partner 
standing stock still, and not knowing how to get out 
of the scrape, the girl began by herself, and fell to 
swimming, and sinking, and capering, and flourishing, 
and posturing, for all the world just like the man on 
the slack rope at our fair. But seeing Wilson stand- 
ing like a stuck pig, and we all laughing at her, she 
resolved to wreak her malice upon him; so, with a 
look of rage and disdain, she advised him to go down 
country bumpkin, with the dairy maid, who would 
make a much fitter partner, as well as wife, for him, 
than she could do. 

“ ‘ I am quite of your mind, miss,’ said he, with more 
spirit than I thought was in him ; ‘ you may make a 
good partner for a dance, but you would make a sad 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 45 

one to go through life with. I will take my leave of 
you, miss, with this short story. I had lately a pretty 
large concern in hay-jobbing, which took me to Lon- 
don. I waited a good while in the Hay-Market for 
my dealer, and, to pass away the time, I stepped into 
a sort of foreign singing play-house there, where I 
was grieved to the heart to see young women painted 
and dizened out, and capering away just as you have 
been doing. 1 thought it bad enough in them, and 
wondered the quality could be entertained with such 
indecent mummery. But little did I think to meet 
with the same paint, finery, and posturing tricks in a 
farmhouse. I will never marry a woman who de- 
spises me, nor the station in which I should place her, 
and so I take my leave.’ — Poor girl, how she was pro- 
voked ! to be publicly refused, and turned off, as it 
were, by a grazier ! But it was of use to some of the 
other girls, who have not held up their heads quite 
so high since, nor painted quite so red, but have con- 
descended to speak to their equals. 

“ But how I run on ! I forget it is Saturday night, 
and that I ought to be paying my workmen, who are 
all waiting for me without.” 

Saturday Night ; or the Workmen's Wages. 

As soon as Mr. Bragwell had done paying his men, 
Mr. Worthy, who was always ready to extract some- 
thing useful from accidental circumstances, said to 
him, “I have made it a habit, and I hope not an unprof- 
itable one, of tiying to turn to some moral use, not 
only all the events of daily life, but all the employ- 
ments of it too. And though it occurs so often, T 
hardly know one that sets me thinking more seriously 
than the ordinary business you have been discharging.” 
“ Ay,” said Bragwell, “ it sets me thinking too, and 
seriously, as you say, when I observe how much the 
price ofwages is increased.”-- — Y r es, yes, you are ready 
enough to think of that,” said Worthy, “ but you say 
not a word of how much the value of your land is in- 


46 


RURAL TALES. 


creased, and that the more you pay, the more you can 
afford to pay. But the thoughts I spoke of are quite 
of another cast. 

“When I call in my laborers, on a Saturday night, 
to pay them, it often brings to my mind the great and 
general day of account, when I, and you, and all of 
us, shall be called to our grand and awful reckoning, 
when we shall go to receive our wages, master and 
servants, farmer and laborer. When I see that one 
of my men has failed of the wages he should have 
received, because he has been idling at a fair; another 
has lost a day by a drinking-bout, a third confesses 
that, though he had task-work, and might have earned 
still more, yet he has been careless, and has not his 
full pay to receive ; this, I say, sometimes sets me on 
thinking whether I also have made the most of my 
time. And when I come to pay even the more dili- 
gent, who have worked all the week, when I reflect 
that even these have done no more than it was their 
duty to do, I can not help saying to myself, night is 
come, Saturday night is come. No repentance, or 
diligence on the part of these poor men can now make 
a bad week’s work good. This week has gone into 
eternity. To-morrow is the season of rest; working 
time is over. ‘ There is no knowledge nor device in 
the grave.’ My life also will soon be swallowed up 
in eternity ; soon the space allotted me for diligence, 
for labor, will be over. Soon will the grand question 
be asked, ‘ AVhat hast thou done ? — Give an account 
of thy stewardship. Didst thou use thy working days 
to the end for which they were given ?’ With some 
such thoughts I commonly go to bed, and they help to 
quicken me to a keener diligence for the next week.” 

Sunday in Mr. Bragwell's Family. 

Mr. Worthy had been for so many years used to the 
sober ways of his own well-ordered family, that he 
greatly disliked to pass a Sunday in any house of which 
religion was not the governing principle. Indeed, he 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


47 


commonly ordered his affairs, and regulated his jour- 
nies with an eye to this object. “ To pass a Sunday in 
an irreligious family,” said he, “is always unpleasant, 
often unsafe. — I seldom find I can do them any good, 
and they may perhaps do me some harm. At least, 
I am giving a sanction to their manner of passing it, 
if I pass it in the same manner. If I reprove them, 
I subject myself to the charge of singularity, and of 
being righteous over-much ; if I do not reprove them, 
I confirm and strengthen them in evil. And whether 
I reprove them or not, I certainly partake of their 
guilt, if I spend it as they do.” 

He had, however, so strong a desire to be useful to 
Mr. Bragwell, that he at length determined to break 
through his common practice, and pass the Sunday 
at his house. Mr. Worthy was surprised to find that 
though the church bell was going, the breakfast was 
not ready, and expressed his wonder how this could 
be the case in so industrious a family. Bragwell 
made some awkward excuses. He said his wife 
worked her servants so hard all the week, that even 
she, as notable as she was, a little relaxed from the 
strictness of her demands on Sunday mornings ; and 
he owned that in a general way, no one was up early 
enough for church. He confessed that his wife com- 
monly spent the morning in making puddings, pies, 
syllabubs, and cakes, to last through the week ; as 
Sunday was the only leisure time she and her maids 
had. Mr. Worthy soon saw an uncommon bustle in 
the house. All hands were busy. It was nothing 
but baking, and boiling, and stewing, and frying, and 
roasting, and running, and scolding, and eating. The 
boy was kept from church to clean the plate, the man 
to gather the fruit, the mistress to make the cheese- 
cakes, the maids to dress the dinner, and the young 
ladies to dress themselves. 

The truth was, Mrs. Bragwell, who had heard much 
of the order and good management of Mr. Worthy’s 
family, but who looked down with disdain upon them 


48 


RURAL TALES. 


as far less rich than herself, was resolved to indulge 
her vanity on the present occasion. She was deter- 
mined to be even with Mrs. Worthy, in whose praises 
Bragwell had been so loud, and felt no small pleasure 
in the hope of making her guest uneasy, in comparing 
her with his own wife, when he should be struck 
dumb with the display both of her skill and her wealth. 
Mr. Worthy was indeed struck to behold as large a 
dinner as he had been used to see at a justice’s meet- 
ing. He, whose frugal and pious wife had accustom- 
ed him only to such a plain Sunday’s dinner as couid 
be dressed without keeping any one from church, 
when he surveyed the loaded table of his friend, in- 
stead of feeling that envy which the grand preparations 
were meant to raise, felt nothing but disgust at the 
vanity of his friend’s wife, mixed with much thankful- 
ness for the piety and simplicity of his own. 

After having made the dinner wait a long time, the 
Miss Bragwells marched in, dressed as if they were 
going to the assize-ball ; they looked very scornfully 
at having been so hurried ; though they had been 
dressing ever since they got up, and their fond father, 
when he saw them so fine, forgave all their imper- 
tinence, and cast an eye of triumph on Mr, Worthy, 
who felt he had never loved his own humble daugh- 
ters so well as at that moment. 

In the afternoon, the whole party went to church. 
To do them justice, it was indeed their common prac- 
tice once a day, when the weather was good, and the 
road was neither dusty nor dirty, when the minister did 
not begin too early, when the young ladies had not been 
disappointed of their bonnets on the Saturday night, 
and when they no smart company in the house, who 
rather wished to stay at home. When this last was 
the case, which, to say the truth, happened pretty 
often, it was thought a piece of good manners to con- 
form to the humor of the guests. Mr. Bragwell had 
this day forborne to ask any of his usual company ; 
well knowing that their vain and worldly conversation 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


49 


would only serve to draw on him some new reprimand 
from his friend. 

Mrs. Bragwell and her daughters picked up, as 
usual, a good deal of acquaintance at church. Many 
compliments passed, and much of the news of the 
week was retailed before the service began. They 
waited with impatience for the reading the lessons as 
a licensed season for whispering, and the subject 
begun during the lessons, was finished while they 
were singing the psalms. The young ladies made 
an appointment for the afternoon with a friend in the 
next pew, while their mamma took the opportunity 
of inquiring aloud, the character of a dairy-maid, 
which she observed with a compliment to her own 
good management, would save time on a week-day. 

Mr. Worthy, who found himself quite in a new 
world, returned home with his friend alone. In the 
evening he ventured to ask Bragwell, if he did not, on 
a Sunday night, at least, make it a custom to read and 
pray with his family. Bragwell told him, he was 
sorry to say he had no family at home, else he should 
like to do it for the sake of example. But as his ser- 
vants worked hard all the week, his wife was of opin- 
ion that they should then have a little holyday. Mr. 
Worthy pressed it home upon him, whether the utter 
neglect of his servants’ principles was not likely to 
make a heavy article in his final account : and asked 
him if he did not believe that the too general liberty 
of meeting together, jaunting, and diverting themselves, 
on Sunday evenings, was not often found to produce 
the worst effects on the morals of servants and the 
good orderoffamilies? “I put it to your conscience,” 
said he,“ Mr. Bragwell, whether Sunday, which was 
meant as a blessing and a benefit, is not, as it is com- 
monly kept, turned into the most mischievous part of 
the week, by the selfish kindness of masters, who, 
not daring to set their servants about any public work, 
allot them that day to follow their own devices, that 
they themselves may with more rigor refuse them a 


50 


RURAL TALES. 


little indulgence, and a reasonable holyday, in the 
working part of the week, which a good servant has 
now and then a fair right to expect. Those masters 
who will give them half, or all the Lord’s day, will 
not spare them a single hour of a working day. Their 
work must be done ; God’s work may be let alone.” 

Mr. Bragwell owned that Sunday had produced 
many mischiefs in his own family. That the young 
men and maids, having no eye upon them, frequently 
went to improper places with other servants, turned 
adrift like themselves. That in these parties the poor 
girls were too frequently led astray, and the men got 
to public houses and fives-playing. But it was none 
of his business to watch them. His family only did 
as others do ; indeed it was his wife’s concern ; and 
she was so good a manager on other days, that she 
would not spare them an hour to visit a sick father or 
mother ; it would be hard, she said, if they might not 
have Sunday afternoon to themselves, and she could 
not blame them for making the most of it. Indeed, 
she was so indulgent in this particular, that she often 
excused the men from going to church, that they 
might serve the beasts, and the maids, that they might 
get the milking done before the holyday part of the 
evening came on. She would not indeed hear of any 
competition between doing her work and taking their 
pleasure ; but when the difference lay between their 
going to church and taking their pleasure, he must say 
that for his wife, she always inclined to the good-na- 
tured side of the question. She is strict enough in 
keeping them sober because drunkenness is a costly 
sin ; and to do her justice she does not care how little 
they sin at her expense. 

“Well,” said Mr. Worthy, “ I always like to examine 
both sides fairly, and to see the different effects of 1 
opposite practices ; now, which plan produces the 
greatest share of comfort to the master, and of profit 
to the servants in the long run ? Your servants, ’tis 
likely, are very much attached to you ; and very fond 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


51 


of living where they get tlieir own way in so great a 
point.” 

“ O, as to that,” replied Bragwell, “you are quite 
out. My house is a scene of discord, mutiny, and 
discontent. And though there is not a better manager 
in Bngland than my wife, yet she is always changing 
her servants ; so that every quarter-day is a sort of jail 
delivery at my house ; and when they go off, as they 
often do, at a moment’s warning, to own the truth, I 
often give them money privately, that they may not 
carry my wife before the justice to get their wages.” 

“ I see,” said Mr. Worthy, “that all your worldly 
compliances do not procure you even worldly happi- 
ness. As to my own family, I take care to let them 
see that their pleasure is bound up with their duty, 
and that what they may call my strictness, has noth- 
ing in view but their safety and happiness. By this 
means I commonly gain their love, as well as secure 
their obedience. I know, that with all my care, I am 
liable to be disappointed, ‘ from the corruption that is 
in the world through sin.’ But whenever this hap- 
pens, so far from encouraging me in remissness, it 
only serves to quicken my zeal. If by God’s blessing, 
my servant turns out a good Christian, I have been an 
humble instrument in his hand of saving a soul com- 
mitted to my charge.” 

Mrs. Bragwell came home, but brought only one 
of her daughters with her, the other, she said, had 
given them the slip, and was gone with a young 
friend, and would not return for a day or two. Mr. 
Bragwell was greatly displeased ; as he knew that 
young friend had but a slight character, and kept bad 
acquaintances. Mrs. Bragwell came in, all hurry and 
bustle, saying, “if her family did not go to bed with 
the lamb on Sundays, when they had nothing to do, 
how could they rise with the lark on Mondays, when 
so much was to be done.” 

Mr. Worthy had this night much matter for reflec- 
tion. “We need not,” said he, “go into the great 


52 


RURAL TALES. 


world to look for dissipation and vanity. We can find 
both in a farmhouse. ‘ As for me and my house,’ 
continued he, ‘we will serve the Lord’ every day, but 
especially on Sunday. ‘ It is the day which the Lord 
hath made ; hath made for himself ; we will rejoice 
in it,’ and consider the religious use of it, not only as 
a duty, but as a privilege.” 


IV. — PRAYER DISCUSSED IN A MORNING’S RIDE. 

It was mentioned in the last part of this history, 
that the chief reason which had drawn Mr. Worthy 
to visit his friend just at the present time was, that 
Mr. Bragwell had a small estate to sell by auction. 
Mr. Worthy, though he did not think he should be a 
bidder, wished to be present, as he had business to 
settle with one or two persons who were expected at 
the Golden Lion, on that day, and he had put off his 
visit till he had seen the sale advertised in the county 
paper. 

Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy set out early on the 
Monday morning, on their way to the Golden Lion, 
a small inn in a neighboring market town. As they 
had time before them, they had agreed to ride slowly 
that they might converse on some useful subject, but 
here, as usual, they had two opinions about the same 
thing. Mr. Bragwell’s notion of a useful subject 
was, something by which money was to be got, and 
a good bargain struck. Mr. Worthy was no less a 
man of business than his friend. His schemes were 
wise, and his calculations just ; his reputation for in- 
tegrity and good sense made him the common judge 
and umpire in his neighbor’s affairs, while no one paid 
a more exact attention to every transaction of his own. 
But the business of getting money was not with him 
the first, much less was it the whole concern of the 
day. He sought in the first place, “ the kingdom of 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


53 


God and Iris righteousness.” Every morning when he 
rose, he remembered that he had a Maker to worship 
as well as a family to maintain. Religion, however, 
never made him neglect business, though it sometimes 
led him to postpone it. He used to say, no man had 
any reason to expect God’s blessing through the day, 
who did not ask it in the morning ; nor was he likely 
to spend the day in the fear of God, who did not be- 
gin it with his worship. But he had not ihe less 
sense, spirit, and activity, when he was among men 
abroad, because he had first served God at home. 

As these two farmers rode along, Mr. Worthy took 
occasion, from the fineness of the day, and the beauty 
of the country through which they passed, to turn the 
discourse to the goodness of God, and our infinite ob- 
ligations to him. He knew that the transition from 
thanksgiving to prayer would be natural and easy; 
and he therefore, sliding by degrees into that import- 
ant subject, observed, that secret prayer was a duty 
of universal obligation, which every man had it in his 
power to fulfil, and which he seriously believed was 
the ground-work of all religious practice, and of all 
devout affections. 

Mr. Bragwell felt conscious that he was very neg- 
ligent and irregular in the performance of this duty; 
indeed, he considered it as a mere ceremony, or at 
least, as a duty which might give way to the slightest 
temptation of drowsiness at night, or business in the 
morning. As he knew he did not live in the con- 
scientious performance of this practice, he tried to 
ward off the subject, knowing what a home way his 
friend had of putting things. After some evasion, he 
at last said, “ he certainly though private prayer a good 
custom, especially for people who have time; and that 
those who were sick, or old, or out of business, could 
not do better ; but that for his part, he believed much 
of these sort of things was not expected from men in 
active life.” 

Worthy. I should think, Mr. Bragwell, that those 

5 * 


54 


RURAL TALES. 


who are most exposed to temptations stand most in 
need of prayer ; now there are few, methinks, who 
are more exposed to temptation than men in business ; 
for those must be in most danger, at least from the 
world, who have most to do with it. And if this be 
true, ought we not to prepare ourselves in the closet 
for the trials of the market, the field, and the shop ? 
It is but putting on our armor before we go out to 
battle. 

Bragwell. For my part, I think example is the 
whole of religion, and if the master of a family is 
orderly, and regular, and goes to church, he does 
everything which can be required of him, and no one 
has a right to call him to an account for anything 
more. 

Worthy . Give me leave to say, Mr. Bragwell, that 
highly as I rate a good example, still I must set a good 
principle above it. I know I must keep good order 
indeed, for the sake of others ; but I must keep a good 
conscience for my own sake. To God I owe secret 
piety, I must therefore pray to him in private. — To 
my family I owe a Christian example, and for that, 
among other reasons, I must not fail to go to church. 

Bragwell. You are talking, Mr. Worthy, as if I 
were an enemy to religion. Sir, I am no heathen. 
Sir, I am a Christian ; 1 belong to the church ; I go 
to church ; I always drink prosperity to the church. 
You yourself, as strict as you are, in never missing it 
twice a day, are not a warmer friend to the church 
than I am. 

Worthy. That is to say, you know its inestimable 
value as a political institution ; but you do not seem 
to know that a man may be very irreligious under the 
best religious institutions ; and that even the most 
excellent only furnishes the means of being religious, 
and is no more religion itself than brick and mortar 
are prayers and thanksgivings. I shall never think, 
however high their profession, and even however reg- 
ular their attendance, that those men truly respect the 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


55 


church, who bring home little of that religion which 
is taught in it into their own families or their own 
hearts ; or, who make the whole of Christianity to 
consist in a mere formal attendance there. Excuse 
me Mr. Bragwell. 

Bragwell. Mr. Worthy, I am persuaded that re- 
ligion is quite a proper thing for the poor ; and I don’t 
think that the multitude can ever be kept in order 
without it ; and I am a sort of a politician you know. 
We must have bits, and bridles, and restraints for the 
vulgar. 

Worthy . Y our opinion is very just, as far as it goes ; 
but it does not go far enough, since, it does not go to 
the root of the evil ; for while you value yourself on 
the soundness of this principle as a politician, I wish 
you also to see the reason of it as a Christian ; de- 
pend upon it, if religion be good for the community 
at large, it is equally good for every family ; and what 
is right for a family is equally right for each individu- 
al in it. You have therefore yourself brought the 
most unanswerable argument why you ought to be 
religious yourself, by asking how we shall keep oth- 
ers in order without religion. For, believe me, Mr. 
Bragwell, theie is no particular clause to except you 
in the Gospel. There are no exceptions there in fa- 
vor of any one class of men. The same restraints 
which are necessary for the people at large, are equal- 
ly necessary for men of every order, high and low, 
rich and poor, bond and free, learned and ignorant. 
If Jesus Christ died for no one particular rank, class, 
or community, then there is no one rank, class, or 
community, exempt from the obedience to his laws 
enjoined by the Gospel. May I ask you, Mr. Brag- 
well, what is your reason for going to church ? 

Bragwell. Sir, I am shocked at your question. 
How can I avoid doing a thing so customary and so 
creditable ? Not go to church, indeed ! What do 
you take me for, Mr. Worthy ? I am afraid you sus- 


56 


RURAL TALES. 


pect me to be a papist, or a heathen, or of some re- 
ligion or other that is not Christian. 

Worthy. If a foreigner were to hear how violently 
one set of Christians in this country often speak 
against another, how earnest would he suppose us all 
to be in religious matters : and how astonished to dis- 
cover that many a man has perhaps little other proof 
to give of the sincerity of his own religion, except 
the violence with which he hates the religion of 
another party. It is not irreligion which such men 
hate, but the religion of the man, or the party, whom 
we are set against : now hatred is certainly no part of 
the religion of the Gospel. Well, you have told me 
why you go to church ; now pray tell me, why do 
you confess there on your bended knees, every Sun- 
day, that “ you have erred and strayed from God’s 
ways; that there is no health in you ; that you have 
done what you ought not to do ; and that you are a 
miserable sinner?” 

Bragwell. Because it is in the Common Prayer 
Book, to be sure ; a book which I have heard your- 
self say was written by wise and good men ; the glo- 
ry of Christianity, the pillars of the protestant church. 

Worthy. But have you no other reason ? 

Bragwell. No, I can’t say I have. 

Worthy. When you repeat that excellent form of 
confession, do you really feel that you are a miserable 
sinner ? 

Bragwell. No, I can’t say I do. But that is no ob- 
jection to my repeating it : Because it may suit the 
cause of many who are so. I suppose the good doc- 
tors who drew it up, intended that part for wicked 
people only, such as drunkards, and thieves, and mur- 
derers ; for I imagine they could not well contrive to 
make the same prayer quite suit an honest man and a 
rogue; and so I suppose they thought it better to 
make a good man repeat a prayer which suited a 
rogue, than to make a rogue repeat a prayer which 
suited a good man ; and you know it is so customaiy 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 57 

for everybody to repeat the general confession, that 
it can’t hurt the credit of the most respectable per- 
sons, though every respectable person must know 
they have no particular concern in it ; as they are not 
sinners. 

Worthy. Depend upon it, Mr. Bragwell, those good 
doctors you speak of, were not quite of your opinion; 
they really thought that what you call honest men 
were grievous sinners in a certain sense, and that the 
best of us stand in need of making that humble con- 
fession. Mr. Bragwell, do you believe in the fall of 
Adam? 

Bragwell. To be sure I do, and a sad thing for Ad- 
am it was; why, it is in the Bible, is it not? It is 
one of the prettiest chapters in Genesis. Don’t you 
believe it, Mr. Worthy? 

Worthy. Yes, truly I do. But I don’t believe it 
merely because I read it in Genesis ; though I know, 
indeed, that I am bound to believe every part of the 
word of God. But I have still an additional reason 
for believing in the fall of the first man. 

Bragwell. Have you indeed ? Now, I can’t guess 
what that can be. 

Worthy. Why, my own observation of what is 
within myself teaches me to believe it. It is not only 
the third chapter of Genesis which convinces me of 
the truth of the fall, but also the sinful inclinations 
which I find in my own heart corresponding with it. 
This is one of those leading truths of Christianity of 
which I can never doubt a moment: first, because it 
is abundantly expressed or implied in Scripture; and 
next, because the consciousness of the evil nature, I 
cany about with me confirms the doctrine beyond all 
doubt. Besides, is it not said in Scripture, that by 
one man, sin entered into the world, and that “ all 
we, like lost sheep, have gone astray ;” that “ by 
one man’s disobedience many were made sinners ;” 
and so again in twenty more places that I could tell 
you of? 


58 


RURAL TALES. 


Brogwell. Well ; I never thought of this. But is 
not this a very melancholy sort of doctrine, Mr. Wor- 
thy ? 

Worthy. It is melancholy, indeed, if we stop here. 
But while we are deploring this sad truth, let us take 
comfort from another, that “ As in Adam all die, so in 
Christ shall all be made alive.” 

Bragwell. Yes; I remember I thought those very 
fine words, when I heard them said over my poor 
father’s grave. But as it was in the burial of the 
dead, I did not think of taking it to myself; for I 
was then young and hearty, and in little danger of 
dying, and I have been so busy ever since, that I have 
hardly had time to think of it. 

Worthy. And yet the service pronounced at the 
burial of all who die, is a solemn admonition to all 
who live. It is there said, as indeed the Scripture 
says also, “ I am the resurrection and the life ; who- 
soever believelh in me shall never die, but I will raise 
him up at the last day.” Now do you think you be- 
lieve in Christ , Mr. Brag-well ? 

Bragwell. To be sure I do ; why you are always 
fancying me an atheist. 

Worthy. In order to believe in Christ, we must be- 
lieve first in our own guilt and our own unworthiness ; 
and when we do this we shall see the use of a Sa- 
vior, and not till then. 

Bragwell. Why, all this is a new way of talking. 
I can’t say I ever meddled with such subjects before 
in my life. But now, what do you advise a man to 
do upon your plan of religion ? 

Worthy. Why all this leads me back to the ground 
from which we set out, I mean the duty of prayer; 
for if we believe that we have an evil nature within us, 
and that we stand in need of God’s grace to help us, 
and a Savior to redeem us, we shall be led of course 
to pray for what we so much need ; and without this 
conviction we shall not be led to pray. 

Bragwell. Well, but don’t you think, Mr. Worthy, 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


59 


that you good folks who make so much of prayer, 
have lower notions than we have of the wisdom of 
the Almighty? You think he wants to be informed 
of the thing you tell him ; whereas, I take it for 
granted that he knows them already, and that, being 
so good as he is, he will give me everything he sees 
fit to give me, without my asking it. 

Worthy. God, indeed, who knows all things, knows 
what we want before we ask him ; but still has he not 
said that, “ With prayer and supplication we must 
make known our requests unto him?” Prayer is the 
way in which God hath said that his favor must be 
sought. It is the channel through which he has de- 
clared it his sovereign will and pleasure that his bless- 
ings should be conveyed to us. What ascends up in 
prayer descends to us again in blessings. It is like 
the rain which just now fell, and which had been 
drawn up from the ground in vapors to the clouds be- 
fore it descended from them to the earth in that re- 
freshing shower. Besides prayer has a good effect on 
our minds ; it tends to excite a right disposition tow- 
ard God in us, and to keep up a constant sense of our 
dependance. But above all, it is the way to get the 
good things we want. “ Ask,” says the Scripture, 
“ and ye shall receive.” 

Bragwell. Now, that is the very thing which I was 
going to deny : for the truth is, men do not always 
get what they ask ; I believe if I could get a good 
crop for asking it, I would pray oftener than I do. 

Worthy. Sometimes, Mr. Bragwell, men “ask and 
receive not, because they ask amiss ;” — “ they ask 
that they may consume it on their lusts.” They ask 
worldly blessings, perhaps, when they should ask 
spiritual ones. Now, the latter, which are the good 
things I spoke of, are always granted to those who 
pray to God for them, though the former are not. I 
have observed in the case of some worldly things I 
have sought for, that the grant of my prayer would 
have caused the misery of my life ; so that God 


60 


RURAL TALES. 


equally consults our good in what he withholds, and 
in what he bestows. 

Bragicell. And yet you continue to pray on I sup- 
pose ? 

Worthy. Certainly ; but then I try to mend as to 
the object of my prayers. I pray for God’s blessing 
and favor, which is better than riches. 

Bragicell. You seem very earnest on this subject. 

Worthy. To cut the matter short ; I ask then, 
whether prayer is not positively commanded in the 
Gospel. When this is the case, we can never dispute 
about the necessity or the duty of a thing, as we may 
when there is no such command. Here, however, 
let me just add also, that a man’s prayers may be 
turned into no small use in the way of discovering to 
him whatever is amiss in his life. 

Bragwell. How so, Mr. Worthy? 

Worthy. Why, suppose now, you were to try your- 
self by turning into the shape of a prayer every prac- 
tice in which you allow yourself. For instance, let 
the prayer in the morning be a sort of preparation for 
the deeds of the da} r , and the prayer at night a sort 
of retrospection of those deeds. You, Mr. Bragwell, 
I suspect, are a little inclined to covetousness ; ex- 
cuse me, sir. Now, suppose after you have been du- 
ring a whole day a little too eager to get rich : sup- 
pose, I say, you were to try how it would sound to 
beg of God at night on your knees, to give you still 
more money, though you have already so much that 
you know not what to do with it. Suppose you were 
to pray in the morning, “ O Lord, give me more 
riches, though those I have are a snare and a tempta- 
tion to me and ask him in the same solemn manner 
to bless all the grasping means you intend to make 
use of in the day, to add to your substance ? 

Bragwell. Mr. Worthy, I have no patience with 
you for thinking I could be so wicked. 

Worthy. Yet to make such a covetous prayer as 
this is hardly more wicked, or more absurd, than to 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 61 

lead the life ol the covetous, by sinning up to the 
spirit of that very prayer which you would not have 
the courage to put into words. Still further observe 
how it would sound to confess your sins, and pray 
against them all, except one favorite sin. “ Lord, do 
thou enable me to forsake all my sins, except the love 
ot money “ In this one thing pardon thy servant.” 
Or, “ Do thou enable me to forgive all who have in- 
jured me, except old Giles.” This you will object 
against, as a wicked prayer ; but if wicked in prayer, 
it must be wicked in practice. It is even more shock- 
ing to make it the language of the heart, or of the 
life, than of the lips. And yet, because you have 
been used to see people act thus, and have not been 
used to hear them pray thus, you are shocked at the 
one, and not shocked at the other. 

Bragwell. Shocked, indeed ! Why, at this rate, you 
would teach one to hate one’s self. 

Worthy. Hear me out, Mr. Bragwell ; you turned 
your good nephew, Tom Broad, out of doors, you 
know ; you owned to me it was an act of injustice. 
Now, suppose on the morning of your doing so you 
had begged of God, in a solemn act of prayer, to pros- 
per the deed of cruelty and oppression, which you 
intended to commit that day. I see you are shocked 
at the thought of such a prayer. Well, then, would 
not hearty prayer have kept you from committing 
that wicked action ? In short, what a life must that 
be, no act of which you dare beg God to prosper and 
bless ? If once you can bring yourself to believe that 
it is your bounden duty to pray for God’s blessing on 
your day’s work, you will certainly grow careful 
about passing such a day as you may safely ask his 
blessing upon. The remark may be carried to sports, 
diversions, company. A man, who once takes up the 
serious use of prayer, will soon find himself obliged 
to abstain from such diversions, occupations, and 
societies, as he can not reasonably desire that God 
will bless to him ; and thus ho will see himself com- 

6 


62 


rural tales. 


pelled to leave off either the practice or the prayer. 
Now, Mr. Bragwell, I need not ask you which of the 
two he that is a real Christian will give up, sinning 
or praying. 

Mr. Bragwell began to feel that he had not the best 
of the argument, and was afraid he was making no 
great figure in the eyes of his friend. Luckily, how- 
ever, he was relieved from the difficulty into which 
the necessity of making some answer must have 
brought him, by finding they were come to the end 
of their little journey : and he never beheld the Bunch 
of Grapes, which decorated the sign of the Golden 
Lion, with more real satisfaction. 


V. — THE GOLDEN LION. 

Mr. Bragwell and Mr. Worthy alighted at the 
Golden Lion. It was market-day : the inn, the yard, 
the town was all alive. — Bragwell was quite in his 
element. Money, company, and good cheer always 
set his spirits afloat. He felt himself the principal 
man in the scene. He had three great objects in 
view; the sale of his land; the letting Mr. Worthy 
see how much he was looked up to by so many sub- 
stantial people, and the showing these people what a 
wise man his most intimate friend, Mr. Worthy was. 
It was his way to try to borrow a little credit from 
every person, and everything he was connected with, 
and by that credit to advance his interest and increase 
his wealth. 

The farmers met in a large room ; and while they 
were transacting their various concerns, those whose 
pursuits were the same, naturally herded together. 
The tanners were drawn to one corner, by the com- 
mon interest which they took in bark and hides. A 
useful debate was carrying on at another little table, 
whether the practice of sowing wheat or of planting 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


63 


it were most profitable. Another set were disputing 
whether horses or oxen were best for ploughs. Those 
who were concerned in canals, sought the company 
of other canallers ; while some, who were interested 
in the new bill for enclosures, wisely looked out for 
such as knew most about waste lands. 

Mr. Worthy was pleased with all these subjects, and 
picked up something useful on each. It was a saying 
of his, that most men understood some one thing, and 
that he who was wise would try to learn from every 
man something on the subject he best knew; but Mr. 
Worthy made a further use of the whole. “ What 
a pity is it,” said he, “ that Christians are not so de- 
sirous to turn their time to good account as men of 
business are ! When shall w r e see religious persons 
as anxious to derive profit from the experience of 
others as these farmers ? When shall we see them 
as eager to turn their time to good account ? While 
I approve these men for not being slothful in business , 
let me improve the hint, by being also fervent in 
spirit .” 

“ The children of this generation are wiser than the 
children of Light." 

When the hurry was a little over, Mr. Bragwell 
took a turn on the bowding-green. Mr. Worthy fol- 
lowed him, “ to ask why the sale of the estate was not 
brought forward. Let the auctioneer proceed to 
business,” said he ; “ the company will be glad to get 
home by daylight. 1 speak mostly with a view to 
others ; for 1 do not think of being a purchaser my- 
self.” “ I know it,” said Bragwell, “or I would not 
be such a fool as to let the cat out of the bag. But 
is it really possible (proceeded he, with a smile of 
contempt) that you should think, I will sell my estate 
before dinner ? Mr. Worthy, you are a clever man 
at books, and such things ; and perhaps can make out 
an account on paper in a handsomer manner than I 
can. But I never found much was to be got by fine 


64 


RURAL TALES. 


writing. As to figures, 1 can carry enough of them 
in my head to add, divide, and multiply more money 
than your learning will ever give you the fingering of. 
You may beat me at a book, but you are a very child 
at a bargain. Sell my land before dinner indeed !” 

Mr. Worthy was puzzled to guess how a man was 
to show more wisdom by selling a piece of ground at 
one hour than another, and desired an explanation. 
Bragwell felt rather more contempt for his understand- 
ing than he had ever done before. “ Look’ee, Mr. 
Worthy,” said he, “ I do not think that knowledge is 
of any use to a man, unless he has sense enough to 
turn it to account. Men are my books, Mr. Worthy ; 
and it is by reading, spelling, and putting them to- 
gether to good purpose, that I have got up in the 
world. I shall give you a proof of this to-day. These 
farmers are most of them come to the Lion with a 
view of purchasing this bit of land of mine, if they 
should like the bargain. Now, as you know a thing 
can’t be any great bargain both to the buyer and the 
seller too, to them and to me, it becomes me as a man 
of sense, who has the good of his family at heart, to 
secure the bargain to myself. I would not cheat any 
man, sir, but I think it fair enough to turn his weak- 
ness to my own advantage ; there is no law against 
that, you know; and this is the use of one man’s hav- 
ing more sense than another. So, whenever I have a 
piece of land to sell, I always give a handsome 
dinner, with plenty of punch and strong beer. We 
fill up the morning with other business ; and I care- 
fully keep back my talk about the purchase till we 
have dined. At dinner we have, of course, a slice of 
politics. This puts most of us into a passion, and you 
know anger is thirsty. Besides, ‘Church and King’ 
naturally brings on a good many other toasts. Now, 
as I am master of the feast, you know it would be 
shabby in me to save my liquor ; so I push about the 
glass one way, and the tankard the other, till all my 
company are as merry as kings. Every man is delight- 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


05 


ed to see what a fine hearty fellow he has to deal with, 
and Mr. Bragwell receives a thousand compliments. 
By this time they have gained as much in good humor 
as they have lost in sober judgment, and this is the 
proper moment for setting the auctioneer to work, and 
this I commonly do to such good purpose, that I go 
home with my purse a score or two pounds heavier 
than if they had not been warmed by their dinner. In 
the morning men are cool and suspicious, and have 
all their wits about them ; but a cheerful glass cures 
all distrust. And, what is lucky, I add to my credit 
as well as my pocket, and get more praise for my din- 
ner than blame for my bargain.” 

Mr. Worthy was struck with the absurd vanity 
which could tempt a man to own himself guilty of an 
unfair action for the sake of showing his wisdom. He 
was beginning to express his disapprobation, when 
they were told dinner was on table. They went in, 
and were soon seated. All was mirth and good cheer. 
Everybody agreed that no one gave such hearty din- 
ners as Mr. Bragwell. Nothing was pitiful where he 
was master of the feast. Bragwell, who looked with 
pleasure on the excellent dinner before him, and en- 
joyed the good account to which he should turn it, 
heard their praises with delight, and cast an eye on 
Worthy, as much as to say who is the wise man now. 
Having a mind, for his own credit, to make his friend 
talk, he turned to him, saying, “ Mr. Worthy, I be- 
lieve no people in the world enjoy life more than men 
of our class. We have money and power, we live on 
the fat of the land, and have as good a right to gentili- 
ty as the best.” 

* “ As to gentility, Mr. Bragwell,” replied Worthy, 
“ I am not sure that this is among the wisest of our 
pretensions. But I will say, that ours is a creditable 
and respectable business. In ancient times, farming 
was the employment of princes and patriarchs ; and, 
now-a-days, an honest, humane, sensible, English 
yeoman, I will be bold to say, is not only a very use- 


66 


RURAL TALES. 


fill, but an honorable character. But then, he must 
not merely think of enjoying life as you call it, but he 
must think of living up to the great ends for which he 
was sent into the world. A wealthy farmer not only 
has it in his power to live well, but to do much good. 
He is not only the father of his own family, but his 
workmen, his dependants, and the poor at large, 
especially in these hard time. He has it in his power 
to raise into credit all the parish offices which have 
fallen into disrepute by getting into bad hands ; and 
he can convert, what have been falsely thought mean 
offices, into very important ones, by his just and 
Christian like manner of filling them. An upright 
juryman, a conscientious constable, an humane over- 
seer, an independent elector, an active superintendent 
of a workhouse, a just arbitrator in public disputes, 
a kind counsellor in private troubles ; such a one, I 
say, fills up a station in society no less necessary, and, 
as far as it reaches, scarcely less important than that 
of a magistrate, a sheriff of a county, or even a mem- 
ber of parliament. That can never be a slight or de- 
grading office, on which the happiness of a whole 
parish may depend.” 

Bragwell, who thought the good sense of his friend 
reflected credit on himself, encouraged Worthy to go 
on, but he did it in his own vain way. “ Ay, very 
tiue, Mr. Worthy,” said he, “you are right; a lead- 
ing man in our class ought to be looked up to as an 
example, as you say ; in order to which, he should 
do things handsomely and liberally, and not grudge 
himself, or his friends, anything; casting an eye of 
complacency on the good dinner he had provided.” 
“ True,” replied Mr. Worthy, “ he should be an ex- 
ample of simplicity, sobriety, and plainness of man- 
ners.” “But he will do well,” added he, “not to 
affect a frothy gentility, which will set but clumsily 
upon him. If he has money, let him spend prudently, 
lay up moderately for his children, and give liberally 
to the poor. But let him rather seek to dignify his 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


67 


own station by his virtues, than to get above it by his 
vanity. If he acts thus, then, as long as his country 
lasts, a farmer of England will be looked upon as one 
of its most valuable members ; nay more, by this con- 
duct, he may contribute to make England last the 
longer. The riches of the farmer, corn and cattle, 
are the true riches of a nation ; but let him remember, 
that though corn and cattle enrich a country, nothing 
but justice, integrity, and religion, can preserve it.” 

Here one of the company, who was known to be a 
man of loose principles, and who seldom went to pub- 
lic worship, said he had no objection to religion, and 
was always ready to testify his regard to it by drink- 
ing church and king. On this Mr. Worthy remarked, 
that “he was afraid that too many contented themselves 
with making this toast include the whole of their re- 
ligion, if not of their loyalty. It is with real sorrow,” 
continued he, “ that I am compelled to observe, that 
though there are numberless honorable instances to 
the contrary, yet I have seen more contempt and 
neglect of Christianity in men of our calling, than in 
almost any other. They too frequently hate the 
rector on account of his tithes, to which he has as 
good a right as they have to their farms, and the curate 
on account of his poverty ; but the truth is, religion 
itself is often the concealed object of their dislike. I 
know too many, who, while they affect a violent out- 
ward zeal for the church, merely because they con- 
ceive its security to be somehow connected with their 
own political advantages, yet prove the hollowness of 
their attachment, by showing little regard to its minis- 
ters, and less to its ordinances.” 

Young Wilson, the worthy grazier, whom Miss 
Brag well turned off because he did not understand 
French dances, thanked Mr. Worthy for what he had 
said, and hoped he should be the better for it as long 
as he lived, and desired his leave to be better acquaint- 
ed. Most of the others declared they had never heard 
a finer speech, and then, as is usual, proceeded to 


68 


RURAL TALES. 


show the good effect it had on them, by loose conver- 
sation, hard drinking, and whatever could counteract 
all that Worthy had been saying. 

Mr. Worthy was much concerned to hear Mr. 
Bragwell, after dinner, whisper to the waiter, to put 
less and less water into every fresh bowl of punch. 
This was his old way ; if the time they had to sit 
was long, then the punch was to be weaker, as he 
saw no good in wasting money to make it stronger 
than the time required. But if time pressed, then the 
strength was to be increased in due proportion, as a 
small quantity must then intoxicate them as much in 
a short time as would be required of a greater quan- 
tity had the time been longer. This was one of Mr. 
Bragwell’s nice calculations ; and this was the sort of 
skill on which he so much valued himself. 

At length the guests were properly primed for busi- 
ness ; just in that convenient stage of intoxication 
which makes men warm and rash, yet keeps short of 
that absolute drunkenness, which disqualifies for 
business, the auctioneer set to work. All were bid- 
ders, and, if possible, all would have been purchasers ; 
so happily had the feast and the punch operated. 
They bid on with a still increasing spirit, till they got 
so much above the value of the land, that Bragwell 
with a wink and a whisper, said: “ Who would sell 
his land fasting? Eh! Worthy?” At length the es- 
tate was knocked down, at a price very far above its 
worth. 

As soon as it was sold, Bragwell again said softly to 
Worthy, “Five from fifty and there remain forty- 
five. The dinner and drink won’t cost me five pounds, 
and I have got fifty more than the land was worth. 
Spend a shilling to gain a pound ! This is what I 
call practical arithmetic, Mr. Worthy.” 

Mr. Worthy was glad to get out of this scene; 
and seeing that his friend was quite sober, he resolved 
as they rode home to deal plainly with him. Brag- 
well had found out, among his calculations, that there 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. G9 

were some sins which could only be committed, by a 
prudent man, one at a time. For instance, he knew 
that a man could not well get rich and get drunk at 
the same moment; so that he used to practise one 
first, and the other after; but he had found out that 
some vices made very good company together; thus, 
while he had watched himself in drinking, lest he 
should become as unfit to sell as his guests were to 
buy, he had indulged, without measure, in the good 
dinner he had provided. Mr. Worthy, I say, seeing 
him able to bear reason, rebuked him for tliis day’s 
proceedings with some severity. Bragwell bore his 
reproofs with that sort of patience which arises from 
an opinion of one’s own wisdom, accompanied by a 
recent flush of prosperity. He behaved with that 
gay good humor, which grows out of united vanity 
and good fortune. “ You are too squeamish, Mr. 
Worthy,” said he, “ I have done nothing discreditable. 
These men came with their eyes open. There is no 
compulsion used. They are free to bid or to let it 
alone. I make them welcome, and I shall not be 
thought a bit the worse of by them to-morrow, when 
they are sober. Others do it besides me, and I shall 
never be ashamed of anything as long as I have cus- 
tom on my side.” 

Worthy. I am sorry, Mr. Bragwell, to hear you 
support such practices by such arguments. There is 
not, perhaps, a more dangerous snare to the souls of 
men than is to be found in that word custom. It is a 
word invented to reconcile corruption with credit, and 
sin with safety. But no custom, no fashion, no com- 
bination of men, to set up a false standard can ever 
make a wrong action right. That a thing is often done, 
is so far from a proof of its being right, that it is the very 
reason which will set a thinking man to inquire if it 
be not really wrong, lest he should be following, “ a 
multitude to do evil.” Right is right, though only 
one man in a thousand pursues it ; and wrong will be 
for ever wrong, though it be the allowed practice of 


70 


RURAL TALES. 


the other nine hundred and ninety-nine. If this 
shameful custom be really common, which I can 
hardy believe, that is a fresh reason why a conscien- 
tious man should set his face against it. And I must 
go so far as to say (you will excuse me, Mr. Bragwell) 
that I see no great difference, in the eye of conscience, 
whatever there may be in the eye of the law, between 
your making a man first lose his reason, and then 
getting fifty guineas out of his pocket, because he has 
lost it, and your picking the fifty guineas out of his 
pocket, if you had met him dead drunk in his way 
home to-night. Nay, he who meets a man already 
drunk and robs him, commits but one sin ; while he 
who makes him drunk first that he may rob him after- 
ward, commits two. 

Bragwell gravely replied : “Mr. Worthy, while I 
have the practice of people of credit to support me, 
and the law of the land to protect me, I see no reason 
to be ashamed of anything I do.” “ Mr. Bragwell,” 
answered Worthy, “ a truly honest man is not always 
looking sharp about him, to see how far custom and 
the law will bear him out; if he be honest on princi- 
ple, he will consult the law of his conscience, and if 
he be a Christian, he will consult the written law of 
God. We never deceive ourselves more than when 
we overreach others. You would not allow that you 
had robbed your neighbor for the world, yet you are 
not ashamed to own you have outwitted him. I have 
read this great truth in the works of a heathen, Mr. 
Bragwell, that the chief misery of man arises from 
his not knowing how to make right calculations. 

Bragwell. Sir, the remark does not belong to me. 
I have not made an error of a farthing. Look at the 
account, sir — right to the smallest fraction. 

Worthy. Sir, I am talking of final accounts; 
spiritual calculations ; arithmetic in the long run. 
Now, in this, your real Christian is the only true 
calculator : he has found out that we shall be richer in 
the end, by denying, than by indulging ourselves. 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


71 


He knows that when the balance comes to be struck, 
when profit and loss shall be summed up, and the 
final account adjusted, that whatever ease, prosperity, 
and delight, we had in this world, yet if we have lost 
our souls in the end, we can not reckon that we have 
made a good bargain. We can not pretend that a 
few items of present pleasure make any great figure, 
set over against the sum total of eternal misery. So 
you see it is only for want of a good head at calcula- 
tion that men prefer time to eternity, pleasure to 
holiness, earth to heaven. You see if we get our 
neighbor’s money at the price of our own integrity ; 
hurt his good name, but destroy our own souls; raise 
our outward character, but wound our inward con- 
science ; when we come to the last reckoning, we 
shall find that we were only knaves in the second 
instance, but fools in the first. In short, we shall 
find that whatever other wisdom we possessed, we 
were utterly ignorant of the skill of true calculation. 

Notwithstanding this rebuff, Mr. Bragwell got 
home in high spirits, for no arguments could hinder 
him from feeling that he had the fifty guineas in his 
purse. 

There is to a worldly man something so irresistible 
in the actual possession of present, and visible, and 
palpable pleasure, that he considers it as a proof of 
his wisdom to set them in decided opposition to the 
invisible realities of eternity. 

As soon as Bragwell came in, he gayly threw the 
money he had received on the table, and desired his 
wife to lock it up. Instead of receiving it with her 
usual satisfaction, she burst into a violent fit of passion, 
and threw it back to him. “You may keep your 
cash yourself,” said she. “ It is all over — we want 
no more money. You are a ruined man ! A wicked 
creature, scraping and working as we have done for 
her!” — Bragwell trembled, but durst not ask what he 
dreaded to hear. His wife spared him the trouble, 
by crying out as soon as her rage permitted : “ The 


72 


RURAL TALES. 


girl is ruined ; Polly is gone off!” Poor Bragwell’s 
heart sunk within him ; he grew sick and giddy, and 
as his wife’s rage swallowed up her grief, so, in his 
grief, he almost forgot his anger. The purse fell 
from his hand, and he cast a look of anguish upon it, 
finding, for the first time that money could not relieve 
his misery. 

Mr. Worthy, who though much concerned, was 
less discomposed, now called to mind, that the young 
lady had not returned with her mother and sister the 
night before : he begged Mrs. Bragwell to explain 
this sad story. She, instead of soothing her husband, 
fell to reproaching him. “ It is all your fault,” said 
she ; “ you were a fool for your pains. — If I had had 
my way the girls would never have kept company 
with any but men of substance, and then they could 
not have been ruined.” “ Mrs. Bragwell,” said Wor- 
thy, “ if she has chosen a bad man, it would be still 
a misfortune, even though he had been rich.” “O, 
that would alter the case,” said she, “ a fat sorrow is 
better than a lean one. But to marry a beggar ! there 
is no sin like that.” Here Miss Betsey, who stood 
sullenly by, put in a word, and said, her sister, how- 
ever, had not disgraced herself by having married a 
farmer or a tradesman; she had, at least, made choice 
of a gentleman. “ What marriage ! what gentleman !” 
cried the afflicted father; “tell me the worst !” He 
was now informed that his darling daughter was gone 
off with a strolling player, who had been acting in 
the neighboring villages lately. Miss Betsey again 
put in, saying, he was no stroller, but a gentleman in 
disguise, who only acted for his own diversion. “ Does 
he so,” said the now furious Bragwell, “ then he shall 
be transported for mine.” 

At this moment a letter was brought him from his 
new son-in-law, who desired his leave to wait upon 
him, and implore his forgiveness. He owned he had 
been shopman to a haberdasher ; but thinking his 
person and talents ought not to be thrown away upon 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


73 


trade, and being also a little behind hand, he had ta- 
ken to the stage with a view of making his fortune : 
that he had married Miss Bragwell entirely for love, 
and was sorry to mention so paltry a thing as money, 
which he despised, but that his wants were pressing : 
his landlord, to whom he was in debt, having been so 
vulgar as to threaten to send him to prison. He end- 
ed with saying : “ I have been obliged to shock your 
daughter’s delicacy, by confessing my unlucky real 
name ; I believe I owe part of my success with her, 
to my having assumed that of Augustus Frederick 
Theodosius. She is inconsolable at this confession, 
which, as you are now my father, I must also make 
to you, and subscribe myself, with many blushes, by 
the vulgar name of your dutiful son, 

“Timothy Incle.” 

“ O !” cried the afflicted father, as he tore the letter 
in a rage, “ Miss Bragwell married to a strolling 
actor ! How shall I bear it?” “ Why, I would not 
bear it at all,” cried the enraged mother ; “ I would 
never see her ; I would never forgive her ; I would 
let her starve at the corner of the barn, while that 
rascal, with all those pagan, popish names, was rant- 
ing away at the other.” “Nay,” said Miss Betsey, 
“ if he is only a shopman, and if his name be really 
Timothy Incle, I would never forgive her neither. 
But who would have thought it by his looks, and by 
his monstrous genteel behavior ? no, he never can have 
so vulgar a name.” 

“ Come, come,” said Mr. Worthy, “ were he really 
an honest haberdasher, I should think there was no 
other harm done, except the disobedience of the thing. 
Mr. Bragwell, this is no time to blame you, or hardly 
to reason with you. I feel for you sincerely. I ought 
not, perhaps, just at present, to reproach you for the 
mistaken manner in which you have bred up your 
daughters, as your error has brought its punishment 
along with it. You now see, because you now feel r 
the evil of a false education. It has ruined your 

7 


74 


RURAL TALES. 


daughter ; your whole plan unavoidably led to some 
such end. The large sums you spent to qualify them, 
as you thought, for a high station, only served to 
make them despise their own, and could do them 
nothing but harm, while your habits of life properly 
confined them to company of a lower class. While 
they were better dressed than the daughters of the 
first gentry, they were worse taught as to real knowl- 
edge, than the daughters of your ploughmen. Their 
vanity has been raised by excessive finery, and kept 
alive by excessive flattery. Every evil temper has 
been fostered by indulgence. Their pride has never 
been controlled ; their self-will has never been sub- 
dued ; their idleness has laid them open to every 
temptation, and their abundance has enabled them to 
gratify every desire ; their time, that precious talent, 
has been entirely wasted. Everything they have 
been taught to do is of no use, while they are utterly 
unacquainted with all which they ought to have 
known. I deplore Miss Polly’s false step. That she 
should have married a runaway shopman turned 
stroller, I truly lament. But for what better husband 
was she qualified ? F or the wife of a farmer she was 
too idle : for the wife of a tradesman she was too ex- 
pensive : for the wife of a gentleman she was too 
ignorant. You, yourself, was most to blame. You 
expected her to act wisely, though you never taught 
her that fear of God which is the beginning of wisdom. 
I owe it to you, as a friend, and to myself as a 
Christian, to declare, that your practices in the com- 
mon transactions of life, as well as your present mis- 
fortune, are almost the natural consequences of those 
false principles which I protested against when you 
were at my house.” 

Mrs. Bragwell attempted several times to interrupt 
Mr. Worthy, but her husband would not permit it. 
He felt the force of all his friend said, and encouraged 
him to proceed. Mr. Worthy thus went on: “It 
grieves me to say how much your own indiscretion 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 75 

has contributed even to bring on your present mis- 
fortune. You gave your countenance to this very 
company of strollers, though you knew they were 
acting in defiance to the laws of the land, to say no 
worse. They go from town to town, and from barn 
to barn, stripping the poor of their money, the young 
of their innocence, and all of their time. Do you re- 
member with how much pride you told me that you 
had bespoke The Bold Stroke for a Wife, for the bene- 
fit of this very Mr. F rederic Theodosius ? To this 
pernicious ribalry you not only carried your own 
family, but wasted I know not how much money in 
treating your workmen’s wives and children, in these 
hard times too when they have scarcely bread to eat, 
or a shoe on their feet : and all this only that you might 
have the absurd pleasure of seeing those flattering 
words, By desire of Mr. Bragwell , stuck up in print 
at the public house, on the blacksmith’s shed, at the 
turnpike-gate, and on the barn-door.” 

Mr. Bragwell acknowledged that his friend’s rebuke 
was too just, and he looked so very contrite as to raise 
the pity of Mr. Worthy, who, in a mild voice, thus 
went on : “ What I have said is not so much to re- 
proach you with the ruin of one daughter, as from a 
desire to save the other. Let Miss Betsey go home 
with me. I do not undertake to be her jailer, but 1 
will be her friend. She will find in my daughters 
kind companions, and in my wife a prudent guide. I 
know she will dislike us at first, but I do not despair 
in time of convincing her that a sober, humble, useful, 
pious life, is as necessary to make us happy on earth, 
as it is to fit us for heaven.” 

Poor Miss Betsey, though she declared it would be 
frightful dull and monstrous vulgar and dismal melan- 
choly , yet was she so terrified at the discontent and 
grumbling which she would have to endure at home, 
that she sullenly consented. She had none of that 
filial tenderness which led her to wish to stay and 
sooth and comfort her afflicted father. All she thought 


76 


RURAL TALES. 


about was to get out of the way of her mother’s ill 
humor, and to carry so much finery with her as to fill 
the Miss Worthys with envy and respect. Poor girl ! 
she did not know that envy was a feeling they never 
indulged ; and that fine clothes were the last thing to 
draw their respect. 

Mr. Worthy took her home next day. When they 
reached his house they found there young Wilson, 
Miss Betsey’s old admirer. She w r as much pleased 
at this, and resolved to treat him well. But her good 
or ill treatment now signified but little. This young 
grazier reverenced Mr. Worthy’s character, and ever 
since he had met him at the Lion, had been thinking 
what a happiness it would be to marry a young wo- 
man bred up by such a father. He had heard much 
of the modesty and discretion of both the daughters, 
but his inclination now determined him in favor of the 
elder. 

Mr. Worthy, who knew him to be a young man of 
good sense and sound principles, allowed him to be- 
come a visiter at his house, but deferred his consent 
to the marriage till he knew him more thoroughly. 
Mr. Wilson, from what he saw of the domestic piety 
of this family, improved daily, both in the knowledge 
and practice of religion ; and Mr. Worthy soon formed 
him into a most valuable character. During this time 
Miss Bragwell’s hopes had revived ; but though she 
appeared in a new dress almost every day she had the 
mortification of being beheld with great indifference 
by one whom she had always secretly liked. Mr. 
Wilson married before her face a girl who was great- 
ly her inferior in fortune, person, and appearance ; but 
who was humble, frugal, meek, and pious. Miss 
Bragwell now strongly felt the truth of what Mr. 
Wilson had once told her, that “ a woman may make 
an excellent partner for a dance who would make a 
very bad companion for life.” 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS- 


77 


VI. — GOOD RESOLUTIONS. 

Mr. Bragwell was so much afflicted at the dis- 
graceful marriage of his daughter, who ran off with 
Timothy Incle, the strolling player, that he never fully 
recovered his spirits. His cheerfulness, which had 
arisen from a high opinion of himself, had been con- 
firmed by a constant flow of uninterrupted success; 
and that is a sort of cheerfulness which is very liable 
to be impaired, because it lies at the mercy of every 
accident and cross event in life. But though his pride 
was now disappointed, his misfortunes had not taught 
him any humility, because he had not discovered that 
they were caused by his own fault ; nor had he ac- 
quired any patience or submission because he had not 
learnt that all afflictions come from the hand of God, 
to awaken us to a deep sense of our sins, and to draw 
off' our hearts from the perishing vanities of this life. 
Besides, Mr. Bragwell was one of those people who, 
even if they would be thought to bear with tolerable 
submission such trials as appear to be sent more im- 
mediately from Providence, yet think they have a sort 
of right to rebel at every misfortune which befalls them 
through the fault of a fellow-creature ; as if our fel- 
low-creatures were not the agents and instruments by 
which Providence often sees fit to try or to punish us. 

In answer to his heavy complaints, Mr. Worthy" 
wrote him a letter, in which he expatiated on the in- 
justice of our impatience, and on the folly of our vin- 
dicating ourselves from guilt in the distinctions we 
make between those trials which seem to come more 
immediately from God, and those which proceed di- 
rectly from the faults of our fellow-creatures. “ Sick- 
ness, losses, and death, we think,” continued he, “we 
dare not openly rebel against ; while we fancy we are 
quite justified in giving a loose to our violence when 
we suffer by the hand of the oppressor, the unkindness 
of the friend, or the disobedience of the child. But 
this is one of the delusions of our blinded hearts. In- 

17 # 


78 


RURAL TALES. 


gratitude, unkind ness, calumny, are permitted to assail 
us by the same power who cuts off ‘ the desire of our 
eyes at a stroke.’ The friend who betrays us, and the 
daughter who deceives us, are instruments for our 
chastisement, sent by the same purifying hand who 
orders a fit of sickness to weaken our bodies, or a 
storm to destroy our crop, or a fire to burn down our 
house. And we must look for the same remedy in 
the one case as in the other ; I mean prayer and a 
deep submission to the will of God. We must leave 
off looking at second causes, and look more at Him 
who sets them in action. We must try to find out 
the meaning of the providence ; and hardly dare pray 
to be delivered from it till it has accomplished in us 
the end for which it was sent.” 

His imprudent daughter, Bragwell would not be 
brought to see or forgive, nor was the degrading name 
of Mrs. Incle ever allowed to be pronounced in his 
hearing. He had loved her with an excessive and 
undue affection; and while she gratified his vanity by 
her beauty and finery, he deemed her faults of little 
consequence; but when she disappointed his ambition 
by a disgraceful marriage, all his natural affection 
only served to increase his resentment. Yet, though 
he regretted her crime less than his own mortification, 
he never ceased in secret to lament her loss. She 
soon found out she was undone; and wrote in a strain 
of bitter repentance to ask him for forgiveness. She 
owned that her husband, whom she had supposed to 
be a man of fashion in disguise, was a low person in 
distressed circumstances. She implored that her 
father, though he refused to give her husband that 
fortune for which alone it was now too plain he had 
married her, would at least allow her some subsistence; 
for that Mr. Incle was much in debt, and she feared 
in danger of a jail. 

The father’s heart was half melted at this account, 
and his affection was for a time awakened. But Mrs. 
Bragwell opposed his sending her any assistance. 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


79 


She always made it a point of duty never to forgive ; 
for she said it only encouraged those who had done 
wrong once to do worse next time. For her part she 
had never yet been guilty of so mean and pitiful a weak- 
ness as to forgive any one ; for to pardon an injury 
always showed either want of spirit to feel it, or want 
of power to resent it. She was resolved she would 
never squander the money for which she had worked 
early and late, on a baggage who had thrown herself 
away on a beggar, while she had a daughter single, 
who might yet raise her family by a great match. I 
am sorry to say that Mrs. Bragwell’s anger was not 
owing to the undutifulness of the daughter, or the 
worthlessness of the husband ; poverty was in her 
eyes the grand crime. The doctrine of forgiveness, 
as a religious principle, made no more a part of Mr. 
Bragwell’s system than of his wife’s; but in natural 
feeling, particularly for this offending daughter, he 
much exceeded her. 

In a few months the youngest Miss Bragwell desir- 
ed leave to return home from Mr. Worthy’s. She 
had, indeed, only consented to go thither as a less evil 
of the two, than staying in her father’s house after 
her sister’s elopement. But the sobriety and simplici- 
ty of Mr. Worthy’s family were irksome to her. 
Habits of vanity and idleness were become so rooted 
in her mind, that any degree of restraint was a bur- 
then ; and though she was outwardly civil, it was 
easy to see that she longed to get away. She re- 
solved, however, to profit by her sister’s faults; and 
made her parents easy by assuring them she never 
would throw herself away on a man who was worth 
nothing. Encouraged by these promises, which her 
parents thought included the whole sum and sub- 
stance of human wisdom, and which was all they said 
they could in reason expect, her father allowed her to 
come home. 

Mr. Worthy, accompanied her, found Mr. Brag- 
well gloomy and dejected. As his house was no long- 


80 


RURAL TALES. 


er a scene of vanity and festivity, Mr. Bragwell tried 
to make himself and his friend believe that he was 
grown religious; whereas he was only become discon- 
tented. As he had always fancied that piety was a 
melancholy, gloomy thing, and as he felt his own 
mind really gloomy, he was willing to think that he 
was growing pious. He had, indeed, gone more con- 
stantly to church, and had taken less pleasure in feast- 
ing and cards, and now and then read a chapter in the 
Bible ; but all this was because his spirits were low, 
and not because his heart was changed. The out- 
ward actions were more regular, but the inward man 
was the same. The forms of religion were resorted 
to as a painful duty : but this only added to his misery, 
while he was utterly ignorant of its spirit and its power. 
He still, however, reserved religion as a loathsome 
medicine, to which he feared he must have recourse 
at last, and of which he even now considered every 
abstinence from pleasure, or every exercise of piety, 
as a bitter dose. His health also was impaired, so that 
his friend found him in a pitiable state, neither able 
to receive pleasure from the world, which he so dearly 
loved, nor from religion which he so greatly feared. He 
expected to have been much commended by Worthy 
for the change in his way of life ; but Worthy, who 
saw that the alteration was only owing to the loss of 
animal spirits, and to the casual absence of temptation, 
was cautious of flattering him too much. “ I thought, 
Mr. Worthy,” said he, “to have received more com- 
fort from you. I was told, too, that religion was full 
of comfort, but I do not much And it.” — “ You were 
told the truth,” replied Worthy ; “religion is full of 
comfort, but you must first be brought into a state fit 
to receive it before it can become so ; you must be 
brought to a deep and humbling sense of sin. To 
give you comfort while you are puffed up with high 
thoughts of yourself, would be to give you a strong 
cordial in a high fever. Religion keeps back' her 
cordials till the patient is lowered and emptied : 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


81 


emptied of self, Mr. Bragwell. If you had a wound, 
it must be examined and cleansed, ay, and probed too, 
before it would be safe to put on a healing plaster. 
Curing it to the outward eye, while it was corrupt at 
bottom, would only bring on a mortification, and you 
would be a dead man, while you trusted that the 
plaster was curing you. You must be, indeed, a 
Christian before you can be entitled to the comforts 
of Christianity.” 

“I am a Christian,” said Mr. Bragwell; “many 
of my friends are Christians, but I do not see it has 
done us much good.” “Christianity itself,” answer- 
ed Worthy, “can not make us good, unless it be ap- 
plied to our hearts. Christian privileges will not make 
us Christians, unless we make use of them. On that 
shelf I see stands your medicine. The doctor orders 
you to take it. Have you taken it?” “Yes,” re- 
plied Bragwell. “Are you the better for it?” said 
Worthy. “ I think I am,” he replied. “ But,” ad- 
ded Mr. Worthy, “ are you the better because the 
doctor has ordered it merely, or because you have al- 
so taken it ?” “ What a foolish question,” cried 

Bragwell ; “ why to be sure the doctor might be the 
best doctor, and his physic the best physic in the 
world ; but if it stood for ever on the shelf, I could 
not expect to be cured by it. My doctor is not a 
mountebank. He does not pretend to cure by a charm. 
The physic is good, and as it suits my case, though it 
is bitter, I take it.” 

“You have now,” said Mr. Worthy, “explained 
undesignedly the reason why religion does so little 
good in the world. It is not a mountebank; it does 
not work by a charm ; but it offers to cure your 
worst corruptions by wholesome, though sometimes 
bitter prescriptions. But you will not take them ; 
you will not apply to God with the same earnest de- 
sire to be healed with which you apply to your doc- 
tor; you will not confess your sins to one as honestly 
as you tell your symptoms to the other, nor read your 


82 


RURAL TALES. 


Bible with the same faith and submission with which 
you take your medicine. In reading it, however, you 
must take care not to apply to yourself the comforts 
which are not suited to your case. You must by the 
grace of God, be brought into a condition to be enti- 
tled to the promises, before you can expect the com- 
fort of them. Conviction is not conversion ; that 
worldly discontent, which is the effect of worldly dis- 
appointment, is not that godly sorrow which worketh 
repentance. Besides, while you have been pursuing 
all the gratifications of the world, do not complain 
that you have not all the comforts of religion too. 
Could you live in the full enjoyment of both, the Bi- 
ble would not be true .” 

Brag-well. Well, sir, but I do a good action some- 
times ; and God, who knows he did not make us per- 
fect, will accept it, and for the sake of my good ac- 
tions will forgive my faults. 

Worthy. Depend upon it God will never forgive 
your sins for the sake of your virtues. There is no 
commutation tax there. But he will forgive them on 
your sincere repentance, for the sake of Jesus Christ. 
Goodness is not a single act to be done ; so that a 
man can say, I have achieved it, and the thing is over; 
but it is a habit that is to be constantly maintained ; it 
is a continual struggle with the opposite vice. No 
man must reckon himself good for anything he has 
already done ; though he may consider it as an evi- 
dence that he is in the right way, if he feels a con- 
stant disposition to resist every evil temper. But ev- 
ery Christian grace will always find work enough; 
and he must not fancy that because he has conquered 
once, his virtue may now sit down and take a holy- 
day. 

Bragwell. But I thought we Christians need not 
be watchful against sin ; because Christ, as you so 
often tell me, died for sinners. 

Worthy. Do not deceive yourself : the evangelical 
doctrines, while they so highly exalt a Savior, do not 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


83 


diminish the heinousness of sin, they rather magnify 
it. Do not comfort yourself by extenuation or miti- 
gation of sin ; but by repentance toward God, and 
faith in our Lord Jesus Christ. It is not by dimin- 
ishing or denjdng your debt ; but by confessing it, 
by owning you have nothing to pay, that forgiveness 
is to be hoped. 

Bragwell. I don’t understand you. You want to 
have me as good as a saint, and as penitent as a sinner 
at the same time. 

Worthy. I expect of every real Christian, that is, 
every real penitent, that he should labor to get his 
heart and life impressed with the stamp of the Gos- 
pel. I expect to see him aiming at a conformity in 
spirit and in practice to the will of God in Jesus 
Christ. I expect to see him gradually attaining toward 
an entire change from his natural self. When I see 
a man at constant war with those several pursuits and 
tempers which are with peculiar propriety termed 
worldly , it is a plain proof to me that the change must 
have passed on him which the gospel emphatically 
terms becoming “ a new man.” 

Bragwell. I hope then I am altered enough to 
please you. I am sure affliction has made such a 
change in me, that my best friends hardly know me 
to be the same man. 

Worthy. That is not the change I mean. ’Tis true, 
from a merry man you are become a gloomy man ; 
but that is because you have been disappointed in 
your schemes : the principle remains unaltered. A 
great match for your single daughter would at once 
restore all the spirits you have lost by the imprudence 
of your married one. The change the Gospel re- 
quires is of quite another cast: it is having “anew 
heart and a right spirit it is being “ God’s work- 
manship it is being “ created anew in Christ Je- 
sus unto good works it is becoming “ new crea- 
tures it is “ old things being done away, and all 
things made new;” it is by so “ learning the truth as 


84 


RURAL TALES. 


it is in Jesus — to the putting off the old man, and put- 
ting on the new, which after God is created in right- 
eousness and true holiness it is by “ partaking of 
the divine nature.” Pray observe, Mr. Bragwell, 
these are not my words, nor words picked out of any 
fanatical book ; they are the words of that Gospel 
you profess to believe ; it is not a new doctrine, it is 
as old as our religion itself. Though I can not but ob- 
serve, that men are more reluctant in believing, more 
averse to adopting this doctrine than almost any other; 
and indeed I do not wonder at it ; for there is perhaps 
no one which so attacks corruption in its strong holds ; 
no one which so thoroughly prohibits a lazy Chris- 
tian from uniting a life of sinful indulgence with an 
outward profession of piety. 

Bragwell now seemed resolved to set about the 
matter in earnest; but he resolved in his own strength; 
he never thought of applying for assistance to the 
Fountain of Wisdom; to Him who giveth might to 
them who have no strength. Unluckily, the very day 
Mr. Worthy took leave, there happened to be a grand 
ball at the next town, on account of the assizes. An 
assize-ball, courteous reader, is a scene to which gen- 
tlemen and ladies periodically resort to celebrate the 
crimes and calamities of their fellow-creatures, by 
dancing and music, and to divert themselves with 
feasting and drinking, while unhappy wretches are 
receiving sentence of death. 

To this ball Miss Bragwell went, dressed out with 
a double portion of finery, pouring out on her head, 
in addition to her own ornaments, the whole band-box 
of feathers, beads, and flowers, her sister had left be- 
hind her. While she was at the ball her father form- 
ed many plans of religious reformation ; he talked of 
lessening his business, that he might have more lei- 
sure for devotion ; though not just now , while the 
markets were so high ; and then he began to think of 
sending a handsome subscription to the infirmary ; 
though, on second thoughts, he concluded he need 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 85 

not be in a hurry , but might as well leave it in his 
will ; though to give , and repent, and reform, were 
three things he was bent upon. But when his daugh- 
ter came home at night so happy and so fine, and 
telling how she had danced with Squire Squeeze, the 
great corn contractor, and how many fine things he 
had said to her, Mr. Bragwell felt the old spirit of the 
world return in its full force. A marriage with Mr. 
Dashall Squeeze, the contractor, was beyond his 
hopes ; for Mr. Squeeze was supposed from a very 
low beginning to have got rich during the war. 

As for Mr. Squeeze, he had picked up as much of 
the history of his partner between the dances as he 
desired ; he was convinced there would be no money 
wanting ; for Miss Bragwell, who was now looked 
on as an only child, must needs be a great fortune, 
and Mr. Squeeze was too much used to advantageous 
contracts to let this slip. As he was gaudily dressed, 
and possessed all the arts of vulgar flattery, Miss 
Bragwell eagerly caught at his proposal to wait on 
her father next day. Squeeze was quite a man after 
Bragwell’s own heart, a genius at getting money, a 
fine dashing fellow at spending it. He told his wife 
that this was the very sort of a man for his daughter; 
for he got money like a Jew and spent it like a prince ; 
but whether it was fairly got, or wisely spent, he was 
too much a man of the world to inquire. Mrs. 
Bragwell was not so run away with by appearances, 
but that she desired her husband to be careful, and 
make himself quite sure it was the right Mr. Squeeze, 
and no impostor. But being assured by her husband 
that Betsey would certainly keep her carriage, she 
never gave herself one thought with what sort of a 
man she was to ride in it. To have one of her daugh- 
ters drive in her own coach, filled up all her ideas of 
human happiness, and drove the other daughter quite 
out of her head. The marriage was celebrated with 
great splendor, and Mr. and Mrs. Squeeze set off for 
London, where they had taken a house. 

8 


86 


RURAL TALES. 


Mr. Bragwell now tried to forget that he had any 
other daughter; and if some thoughts of the resolu- 
tions he had made of entering on a more religious 
course would sometimes force themselves upon him, 
they were put off, like the repentance of Felix, to a 
more convenient season: and finding he was likely to 
have a grandchild, he became more worldly and more 
ambitious than ever; thinking this a just pretence for 
adding house to house, and field to field. And there 
is no stratagem by which men more fatally deceive 
themselves, than when they make even unborn chil- 
dren a pretence for that rapine, or that hoarding, of 
which their own covetousness is the true motive. 
Whenever he ventured to write to Mr. Worthy about 
the wealth, the gayety, and the grandeur of Mr. and 
Mrs. Squeeze, that faithful friend honestly reminded 
him of the vanity and uncertainty of worldly great- 
ness, and the error he had been guilty of in marrying 
his daughter before he had taken time to inquire into 
the real character of the man, saying, that he could 
not help foreboding that the happiness of a match 
made at a ball might have an untimely end. 

Notwithstanding Mr. Bragwell had paid down a 
larger fortune than was prudent, for fear Mr. Squeeze 
should fly off, yet he was surprised to receive very 
soon a pressing letter from him, desiring him to ad- 
vance a considerable sum, as he had the offer of an 
advantageous purchase, which he must lose for want 
of money. Bragwell was staggered, and refused to 
comply ; but his wife told him he must not be shabby 
to such a gentleman as Squire Squeeze ; for that she 
heard on all sides such accounts of their grandeur, 
their feasts, their carriages, and their liveries, that she 
and her husband ought even to deny themselves com- 
forts to oblige such a generous son, who did all this 
in honor of their daughter ; besides, if he did not 
send the money soon, they might be obliged to lay 
down their coach, and then she should never be able 
to show her face again. At length Mr. Bragwell 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


87 


lent him the money on his bond ; lie knew Squeeze’s 
income was large ; for he had carefully inquired into 
this particular, and for the rest he took his word. Mrs. 
Squeeze also got great presents from her mother, by 
representing to her how expensively they were forced 
to live to keep up their credit, and what honor she 
was conferring on the family of the Bragwells, 
by spending their money in such grand company. 
Among many other letters she wrote her the follow- 
ing 


“ TO MRS. BRAGWELL. 

“ You can’t imagine, dear mother, how charmingly 
we live. — 1 lie a-bed almost all day, and am up all 
night ; but it is never dark for all that, for we burn 
such numbers of candles all at once, that the sun 
would be of no use at all in London. Then I am so 
happy ! for we are never quiet a moment, Sundays or 
working-days ; nay, I should not know which was 
which, only that we have most pleasure on a Sunday ; 
because it is the only day on which people have noth- 
ing to do but to divert themselves. Then the great 
folks are all so kind, and so good ; they have not a bit 
of pride, for they will come and eat and drink, and 
win my money, just as if I was their equal ; and if I 
have got but a cold, they so very unhappy that they 
send to know how I do ; and though I suppose they 
can’t rest till the footman has told them, yet they are 
so polite, that if I have been dying they seem to have 
forgotten it the next time we meet, and not to know 
but they have seen me the day before. Oh! they are 
true friends ; and for ever smiling, and so fond of one 
another, that they like to meet and enjoy one another’s 
company by hundreds, and always think the more the 
merrier. I shall never be tired of such a delightful 
life. 

“Your dutiful daughter, 

“Betsey Squeeze.” 


88 


RURAL TALES. 


The style of her letters, however, altered in a few 
months. She owned that though things went on 
gayer and grander than ever, yet she hardly ever saw 
her husband, except her house was full of company 
and cards, or dancing was going on ; that he was often 
so busy abroad he could not come home all night; 
that he always borrowed the money her mother sent 
her when he was going out on this nightly business ; 
aud that the last time she had asked him for money 
he cursed and swore, and bid her apply to the old 
farmer and his rib, who were made of money. This 
letter Mrs. Bragwell concealed from her husband. 

At length, on some change in public affairs, Mr. 
Squeeze, who had made an overcharge of some thou- 
sand pounds in one article, lost his contract; he was 
found to owe a large debt to government, and his ac- 
counts must be made up immediately. This was im- 
possible ; he had not only spent his large income, 
without making any provision for his family, but had 
contracted heavy debts by gaming and other vices. 
His creditors poured in upon him. He wrote to Brag- 
well to borrow another sum ; but without hinting at 
the loss of his contract. These repeated demands 
made Bragwell so uneasy, that instead of sending him 
the money, he resolved to go himself secretly to Lon- 
don, and judge by his own eyes how things were 
going on, as his mind strangely misgave him. He got 
to Mr. Squeeze’s house about eleven at night, and 
knocked gently, concluding that they must needs be 
gone to bed. But what was his astonishment to find 
the hall was full of men ; he pushed through in spite 
of them, though to his great surprise, they insisted on 
knowing his name, saying they must carry it to their 
lady. This affronted him : he refused, saying, “ It is 
not because I am ashamed of my name, it will pass 
for thousands in any market in the west of England. 
Is this your London manners, not to let a man of my 
credit in without knowing his name indeed !” What 
was his amazement to see every room as full of card- 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


89 


tables and of fine gentlemen and ladies as it would hold. 
All was so light, and so gay, and so festive and so 
grand, that he reproached himself for his suspicions, 
thought nothing too good for them, and resolved se- 
cretly to give Squeeze another five hundred pounds to 
help to keep up so much grandeur and happiness. 
At length seeing a footman he knew, he asked him 
where were his master and mistress, for he could not 
pick them out among the company ; or rather his 
ideas were so confused with the splendor of the scene, 
that he did not know whether they were there or not. 
The man said, that “ his master had just sent for his 
lady up stairs, and he believed that he was not well.” 
Mr. Bragwell said “ he would go up himself and look 
for his daughter, as he could not speak so freely to 
her before all that company.” 

He went up, knocked at the chamber door, and its 
not being opened, made him push it with some 
violence. He heard a bustling noise within, and again 
made a fruitless attempt to open the door. At this the 
noise increased, and Mr. Bragwell was struck to the 
heart at the sound of a pistol from within. He now 
kicked so violently against the door thar it burst open, 
when the first sight he saw was his daughter falling 
to the ground in a fit, and Mr. Squeeze dying by a 
shot from a pistol which was dropping out of his 
hand. Mr. Bragwell was not the only person whom 
the sound of the pistol had alarmed. The servants, 
the company, all heard it, and all ran up to this scene 
of horror. Those who had the best of the game took 
care to bring up their tricks in their hands, having had 
the prudence to leave the very few who could be trust- 
ed, to watch the stakes, while those who had a pros- 
pect of losing profited by the confusion, and threw up 
their cards. All was dismay and terror. Some ran 
for a surgeon, others examined the dying man; some 
removed Mrs. Squeeze to her bed, while poor Brag- 
well could neither see nor hear, nor do anything. 
One of the company took up a letter which lay open 

8* 


90 


RURAL TALES. 


upon the table, and was addressed to him ; they read 
it, hoping it might explain the horrid mystery. It 
was as follows : — 

“ TO MR. BRAGWELL. 

“Sir: Fetch home your daughter; I have ruined 
her, myself, and the child to which she every hour 
expects to be a mother. I have lost my contract. 
My debts are immense. You refuse me money ; I 
must die then ; but I will die like a man of spirit. 
They wait to take me to prison ; I have two execu- 
tions in my house ; but I have ten card-tables in it. 
I would die as I have lived. I invited all this com- 
pany, and have drunk hard since dinner to get primed 
for the dreadful deed. My wife refuses to write to 
you for another thousand, and she must take the con- 
sequences. Vanity has been my ruin ; it has caused 
all my crimes. Whoever is resolved to live beyond 
his income is liable to every sin. He can never say 
to himself, ‘ Thus far shalt thou go and no farther.’ 
Vanity led me to commit acts of rapine, that I might 
live in splendor ; vanity makes me commit self-mur- 
der, because I will not live in poverty. The new 
philosophy says, that death is an eternal sleep ; but 
the new philosophy lies. Do you take heed ; it is 
too late for me : the dreadful gulf yawns to swallow 
me ; I plunge into perdition : there is no repentance 
in the grave, no hope in hell. 

“ Yours, &c. 

“Dashall Squeeze.” 

The dead body was removed, and Mr. Bragwell re- 
maining almost without speech or motion, the com- 
pany began to think of retiring, much out of humor 
at having their party so disagreeably broken up: they 
comforted themselves, however, that it was so early 
(for it was now scarcely twelve) they could finish their 
evening at another party or two ; so completely do 
habits oi pleasure, as it is called, harden the heart, and 
steel it not only against virtuous impressions, but 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


91 


against natural feelings ! Now it was, that those who 
had nightly rioted at the expense of these wretched 
people, were the first to abuse them. Notan offer of 
assistance was made to this poor forlorn woman; not 
a word of kindness or of pity; nothing but censure 
was now heard. “ Why must these upstarts ape 
people of quality ?” though as long as these upstarts 
could feast them, their vulgarity and then bad charac- 
ter had never been produced against them. “ As long 
as thou dost well unto thyself, men shall speak good 
of thee.” One guest who, unluckily, had no other 
house to go to, coolly said, as he walked off, “Squeeze 
might as well have put off shooting himself till the 
morning. It was monstrously provoking that he could 
not wait an hour or two.” 

As everything in the house was seized, Mr. Brag- 
well prevailed on his miserable daughter, weak as she 
was, next morning to set out with him to the country. 
His acquaintance with polite life was short, but he 
had seen a great deal in a little time. They had a 
slow and sad journey. In about a week, Mrs. Squeeze 
lay-in of a dead child ; she herself languished a few 
days, and then died ; and the afflicted parents saw the 
two darling objects of their ambition, for whose sakes 
they had made too much haste to be rich, carried to the 
land where all things are forgotten. Mrs. Bragwell’s 
grief, like her other passions, was extravagant; and 
poor Bragwell’s sorrow was rendered so bitter by self- 
reproach, that he would quite have sunk under it, had 
he not thought of his old expedient in distress, that of 
sending for Mr. Worthy to comfort him. 

It was Mr. Worthy’s way, to warn people of those 
misfortunes which he saw their faults must needs 
bring on them ; but not to reproach or desert them 
when the misfortunes came. He had never been near 
Bragwell, during the short but flourishing reign of the 
Squeezes : for he knew that prosperity made the ears 
deaf and the heart hard to counsel ; but as soon as he 
heard his friend was in trouble, he set out to go to 


92 


RURAL TALES. 


him. Bragvvell burst into a violent fit of tears when 
he saw him, and when he could speak, said, “ This 
trial is more than I can bear.” Mr. Worthy kindly 
took him by the hand, and when he was a little com- 
posed, said, “ I will tell you a short story — There 
was in ancient times a famous man who was a slave. 
His master, who was very good to him, one day gave 
him a bitter melon, and bade him eat it: he ate it up 
without one word of complaint. — * How was it possi- 
ble,’ said the master, ‘ for you to eat so very nauseous 
and disagreeable a fruit?’ — The slave replied, ‘My 
good master, I have received so many favors from your 
bounty, that it is no wonder if I should once in my 
life eat one bitter melon from your hands.’ — This gen- 
erous answer so struck the master, that the history 
says he gave him his liberty. With such submissive 
sentiments, my friend, should man receive his portion 
of sufferings from God, from whom he receives so 
many blessings. You in particular have received 
4 much good at the hand of God, shall you not receive 
evil also ?’ ” 

“O! Mr. Worthy!” said Bragwell, “this blow is 
too heavy for me, I can not survive this shock : I do 
not desire it, I only wish to die.” — “ We are very apt 
to talk most of dying when we are least fit for it,” said 
Worthy. “ This is not the language of that submis- 
sion, which makes us prepare for death ; but of that 
despair which makes us out of humor with life. 
O ! Mr. Bragwell ! you are indeed disappointed of 
the grand ends which made life so delightful to you; 
but till your heart is humbled, till you are brought to 
a serious conviction of sin, till you are brought to see 
what is the true end of life, you can have no hope in 
death. You think you have no business on earth, 
because those for whose sake you too eagerly heaped 
up riches are no more. But is there not under the 
canopy of heaven some afflicted being whom you may 
yet relieve, some modest merit which you may bring 
forward, some helpless creature you may serve by your 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 93 

advice, some perishing Christian you may sustain by 
your wealth ? When you have no sins of your own 
to repent of, no mercies of God to be thankful for, no 
miseries of others to relieve, then, and not till then, I 
consent you should sink down in despair, and call on 
death to relieve you.” 

Mr. Worthy attended his afflicted friend to the fu- 
neral of his unhappy daughter and her babe. The 
solemn service, the committing his late gay and beau- 
tiful daughter to darkness, to worms, and to corrup- 
tion ; the sight of the dead infant, for whose sake he 
had resumed all his schemes of vanity and covetous- 
ness, when he thought he had got the better of them; 
the melancholy conviction that all human prosperity 
ends in ashes to ashes, and dust to dust , has brought 
down Mr. Bragwell’s self-sufficient and haughty soul 
into something of that humble frame in which Mr. 
Worthy had wished to see it. As soon as they re- 
turned home, he was beginning to seize the favorable 
moment for fixing these serious impressions, when 
they were unseasonably interrupted by the parish of- 
ficer, who came to ask Mr. Brag well what he was to 
do with a poor dying woman who was travelling the 
country with her child, and was taken in a fit under 
the church-yard wall ? “At first they thought she 
was dead,” said the man, “ but finding she still breath- 
ed, they have carried her into the workhouse till she 
could give some account of herself.” 

Mr. Bragwell was impatient at the interruption, 
which was indeed unseasonable, and told the man that 
he was at that time too much overcome by sorrow to 
attend to business, but he would give him an answer 
to-morrow. “But, my friend,” said Mr. Worthy, 
“the poor woman may die to-night; your mind is 
indeed not in a frame for worldly business ; but there 
is no sorrow too great to forbid our attending the calls 
of duty. An act of Christian charity will not dis- 
turb, but improve the seriousness of your spirit; and 
though you can not dry your own tears, God may in 


94 


RURAL TALES. 


great mercy permit you to dry those of another. This 
may be one of those occasions for which I told you 
life was worth keeping. Do let us see this woman.” 
Bragwell was not in a state either to consent or re- 
fuse, and his friend drew him to the workhouse, about 
the door of which stood a crowd of people. “ She 
is not dead,” said one ; “ she moves her head — but 
she wants air,” said all of them, while they all, ac- 
cording to custom, pushed so close upon her that it 
was impossible she could get any. A fine boy of two 
or three years old stood by her, crying, “ Mammy is 
dead, mammy is starved.” Mr. Worthy made up to 
the poor woman, holding his friend by the arm : in 
order to give her air he untied a large black bonnet 
which hid her face, when Mr. Bragwell, at that mo- 
ment casting his eyes on her saw in this poor stran- 
ger the face of his own runaway daughter, Mrs. In- 
cle. He groaned, but could not speak ; and as he 
was turning away to conceal his anguish, the little 
boy fondly caught hold of his hand, lisping out — “ O 
stay and give mammy some bread !” His heart 
yearned toward the child ; he grasped his little hand 
in his, while he sorrowfully said to Mr. Worthy, “It 
is too much, send away the people. It is my dear 
naughty child ; ‘ my punishment is greater than I can 
hear' ” Mr. Worthy desired the people to go and 
leave the stranger to them ; but by this time she was 
no stranger to any of them. Pale and meager as was 
her face, and poor and shabby as was her dress, the 
proud and flaunting Miss Polly Bragwell was easily 
known by every one present. They went away, but 
with the mean revenge of little minds, they paid 
themselves by abuse, for all the airs and insolence 
they had once endured from her. “ Pride must have 
a fall,” said one. “ I remember when she was too 
good to speak to a poor body,” said another. “ Where 
are her flounces and furbelows now ? It is come home 
to her at last : her child looks as if he would be glad 
of the worst bit she formerly denied us.” 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


95 


In the meantime Mr. Brag well had sunk into an old 
wicker chair which stood behind, and groaned out, 
“ Lord, forgive my hard heart ! Lord, subdue my 
proud heart, create a clean heart , O God! and renew 
a right spirit within me." This was perhaps the first 
words of genuine prayer he had ever offered up in his 
whole life. Worthy overheard it, and in his heart 
rejoiced ; but this was not a time for talking, but 
doing. He asked Bragwell what was to be done with 
the unfortunate woman, who now seemed to recover 
fast, but she did not see them, for they were behind. 
She embraced her boy, and faintly said, “ My child 
what shall we do ? I will arise and go to my father, 
and say unto him , Father, I have sinned against Heaven 
and before thee." This was a joyful sound to Mr. 
Worthy, who was inclined to hope that her heart 
might be as much changed for the better as her cir- 
cumstances were altered for the worse ; and he val- 
ued the goods of fortune so little, and contrition of 
soul so much, that he began to think the change on 
the whole might be a happy one. The boy then 
sprung from his mother, and ran to Bragwell, saying, 
“ Do be good to mammy.” Mrs. Jncle looking round, 
now perceived her father ; she fell at his feet, saying, 
“ O forgive your guilty child, and save your innocent 
one from starving !” Bragwell sunk down by her, and 
prayed God to forgive both her and himself in terms 
of genuine sorrow. To hear words of real penitence 
and heart-felt prayer from this once high-minded father 
and vain daughter, was music to Worthy’s ears, who 
thought this moment of outward misery was the only 
joyful one he had ever spent in the Bragwell family. 

He was resolved not to interfere, but to let the 
father’s own feelings work out the way into which he 
was to act. 

Bragwell said nothing, but slowly led to his own 
house, holding the little boy by the hand, and point- 
ing to Worthy to assist the feeble steps of his daugh- 
ter, who once more entered her father’s doors ; but 


/ 


96 


RURAL TALES. 


the dread of seeing her mother quite overpowered 
her. Mrs. Bragwell’s heart was not changed, but 
sorrow had weakened her powers of resistance ; and 
she rather suffered her daughter to come in, than 
gave her a kind reception. She was more astonished 
than pleased ; and even in this trying moment, was 
more disgusted with the little boy’s mean clothes, 
than delighted with his rosy face. As soon as she 
was a little recovered, Mr. Bragwell desired his daugh- 
ter to tell him how she happened to be at that place 
at that time. 


VII. MRS. INCLE’S STORY. 

“ I left your house, dear father,” said Mrs. Incle, 
“ with a heart full of vain triumph. I had no doubt 
but my husband was a great man, who put on that 
disguise to obtain my hand. Judge then what I felt 
to find that he was a needy impostor, who wanted 
my money, but did not care for me. This discov- 
ery, though it mortified, did not humble me. I had 
neither affection to bear with the man who had de- 
ceived me, nor religion to improve by the disappoint- 
ment. I have found that change of circumstances 
does not change the heart, till God is pleased to do it. 
My misfortune only taught me to rebel more against 
him. I thought God unjust ; I accused my father, 
I was envious of my sister, I hated my husband ; but 
never once did I blame myself. 

“My husband picked up a wretched subsistence by 
joining himself to any low scheme of idle pleasure 
that was going on. He would follow a mountebank, 
carry a dice-box, or fiddle at a fair. He was always 
taunting me for that gentility on which I so much 
valued myself. ‘ If I had married a poor working 
girl,’ said he, ‘ she could now have got her bread ; 
but a fine lady without money is a disgrace to herself, 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


97 


a burden to her husband, and a plague to society.’ 
Eveiy trial which affection might have made lighter, 
we doubled by animosity : at length my husband was 
detected in using false dice ; he fought with his ac- 
cuser, both were seized by a press-gang, and sent to 
sea. I was now left to the wide world ; and misera- 
ble as I had thought myself before, I soon found there 
were higher degrees of misery. I was near my time, 
without bread for myself, or hope for my child. I set 
out on foot in search of the village where I had heard 
my husband say his friends lived. It was a severe 
trial to my proud heart to stoop to those low people; 
but hunger is not delicate, and I was near perishing. 
My husband’s parents received me kindly, saying, 
that though they had nothing but what they earned 
by their labor, yet I was welcome to share their hard 
fare ; for they trusted that God who sent mouths 
would send meat also. They gave me a small room 
in their cottage, and furnished me with many neces- 
saries, which they denied themselves.” 

“O! my child!” interrupted Bragwell, “every 
word cuts me to the heart. These poor people glad- 
ly gave thee of their little, while thy rich parents left 
thee to starve.” 

“ How shall I own,” continued Mrs. Incle, “ that 
all this goodness could not soften my heart; for God 
had not yet touched it. I received all their kindness 
as a favor done to them ; and thought them sufficient- 
ly rewarded for their attentions by the rank and mer- 
it of their daughter-in-law. When my father brought 
me home any little dainty which he could pick up, 
and my mother kindly dressed it for me, I would not 
condescend to eat it with them, but devoured it sul- 
lenly in my little garret alone suffering them to fetch 
and carry everything I wanted. As my haughty be- 
havior was not likely to gain their affection, it was 
plain they did not love me : and as I had no notion 
that there were any motives to good actions but fond- 
ness, or self-interest, I was puzzled to know what 

9 


98 


RURAL TALES. 


could make them so kind to me ; for of the powerful 
and constraining law of Christian charity I was quite 
ignorant. To cheat the weary hours, 1 looked about 
for some books, and found, among a few others of 
the same cast, ‘ Doddridge’s Rise and Progress of 
Religion in the Soul.’ But all those sort of books 
were addressed to sinners ; now as I knew I was not 
a sinner, I threw them away in disgust. Indeed they 
were ill-suited to a taste formed by plays and novels, 
to which reading I chiefly trace my ruin ; for, vain 
as I was, J should never have been guilty of so wild 
a step as to run away, had not my heart been tainted 
and my imagination inflamed by those pernicious 
books. 

“ At length my little George was born. This added 
to the burden I had brought on this poor family, but 
it did not diminish their kindness ; and we continued 
to share their scanty fare without any upbraiding on 
their part, or any gratitude on mine. Even this poor 
baby did not soften my heart; I wept over him, in- 
deed, day and night, but they were tears of despair; 
I was always idle, and wasted those hours in sinful 
murmurs at his fate, which I should have employed 
in trying to maintain him. Hardship, grief, and im- 
patience, at length brought on a fever. Death seem- 
ed now at hand, and I felt a gloomy satisfaction in the 
thought of being rid of my miseries, to which I fear 
was added a sullen joy, to think that you, sir, and my 
mother, would be plagued to hear of my death when 
it would be too late ; and in this your grief I antici- 
pated a gloomy sort of revenge. But it pleased my 
merciful God not to let me thus perish in my sins. 
My poor mother-in-law sent /or a good clergyman, 
who pointed out the danger of dying in that hard and 
uncontroverted state so forcibly, that I shuddered to 
find on what a dreadful precipice I stood. He pray- 
ed with me, and for me so earnestly, that at length 
God, who is sometimes pleased to magnify his own 
glory in awakening those who are dead in trespasses 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


99 


and sins, was pleased of his free grace to open my 
blind eyes, and soften my stony heart. I saw myself 
a sinner, and prayed to be delivered from the wrath 
of God, in comparison of which the poverty and dis- 
grace I now suffered appeared as nothing. To a soul 
convinced of sin, the news of a Redeemer was a joy- 
ful sound. Instead of reproaching Providence, or 
blaming my parents, or abusing my husband, I now 
learnt to condemn myself, to adore that God who had 
not cut me off in my ignorance, to pray for pardon 
for the past, and grace lor the time to come. I now 
desired to submit to penury and hunger, so that I 
might but live in the fear of God in this world, and 
enjoy his favor in the next. I now learnt to compare 
my present light sufferings, the consequence of my 
own sin, with those bitter sufferings of my Savior, 
which he endured for my sake, and I was ashamed of 
murmuring. But self-ignorance, conceit, and vanity, 
were so rooted in me, that my progress was very 
gradual, and I had the sorrow to feel how much the 
power of long bad habits keeps down the growth of 
religion in the heart, even after the principle itself has 
begun to take root. I was so ignorant of divine 
things, that I hardly knew words to frame a prayer ; 
but when I got acquainted with the Psalms, I there 
learnt how to pour out the fulness of my heart, while 
in the Gospel I rejoiced to see what great things God 
had done for my soul. 

“I now took down once more from the shelf ‘Dod- 
dridge’s Rise and Progress and oh ! with what new 
eyes did I read it! I now saw clearly, that not only 
the thief and the drunkard, the murderer and the 
adulterer, are sinners, for that I knew before; but I 
found that the unbeliever, the selfish, the proud, the 
worldly-minded, all, in short, who live without God 
‘ in the world, are sinners. 1 did not now apply the 
reproofs I met with to my husband, or my father ; or 
other people, as I used to do; but brought them home 
to myself. In this book I traced, with strong emotions 


100 


RURAL TALES. 


and close self-application, the sinner through all his 
course; his first awakening, his convictions, repent- 
ance, joys, sorrows, back-sliding, and recovery, de- 
spondency, and delight, to a triumphant death-bed ; 
and God was pleased to make it a chief instrument in 
bringing me to himself. Here it is,” continued Mrs. 
Incle, untying her little bundle, and taking out a book ; 
“ accept it, my dear father, and I will pray that God 
may bless it to you, as he has done to me. 

“ When I was able to come down, I passed my time 
with these good old people, and soon won their affec- 
tion. I was surprised to find they had veiy good 
sense, which I never had thought poor people could 
have ; but, indeed, worldly persons do not know how 
much religion, while it mends the heart, enlightens 
the understanding also. I now regretted the evenings 
I had wasted in my solitary garret, when I might have 
passed them in reading the Bible with these good folks. 
This was their refreshing cordial after a weary day, 
which sweetened the pains of want and age. I one 
day expressed my surprise that my unfortunate hus- 
band, the son of such pious parents, should have turn- 
ed out so ill : the poor old man said with tears, ‘ I fear 
we have been guilty of the sin of Eli ; our love was 
of the wrong sort. Alas ! like him, we honored our 
son more than God , and God has smitten us for it. 
We showed him by our example, what was right ; 
but through a false indulgence, we did not correct him 
for what was wrong. We were blind to his faults. 
He was a handsome boy, with sprightly parts : we 
took too much delight in these outward things. He 
soon got above our management, and became vain, 
idle, and extravagant ; and when we sought to restrain 
him, it was then too late. We humbled ourselves 
before God ; but he was pleased to make our sin be- 
come its own punishment. Timothy grew worse and 
worse, till he was forced to abscond for a misdemeanor; 
after which we never saw him, but have often heard 
of him changing from one idle way of life to another; 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 101 

unstable as water, he has been a footman, a soldier, a 
shopman, a gambler, and a strolling actor. With deep 
sorrow we trace back his vices to our ungoverned 
fondness ; that lively and sharp wit, by which he has 
been able to carry on such a variety of wild schemes, 
might, if we had used him to bear reproof in his youth, 
have enabled him to have done great service for God 
and his country. But our flattering made him wise 
in his own conceit ; and there is more hope of a fool 
than of him. We indulged our own vanity, and have 
destroyed his soul.’ ” 

Here Mr. Worthy stopped Mrs. Incle, saying, that 
whenever he heard it lamented that the children of 
pious parents often turned out so ill, he could not 
help thinking that there must be frequently something 
of this sort of error in the bringing them up ; he knew, 
indeed, some instances to the contrary, in which the 
best means had failed ; but he believed, that from Eli 
the priest, to Incle the laborer, much more than half 
the failures of this sort might be traced to some mis- 
take, or vanity, or bad judgment, or sinful indulgence, 
in the parents. 

“ I now looked about,” continued Mrs. Incle, “ in 
order to see in what I could assist my poor mother ; 
regretting more heartily than she did, that I knew no 
one thing that was of any use. I was so desirous of 
humbling myself before God and her, that I offered 
even to try to wash.” — “You wash!” exclaimed 
Bragwell, starting up with great emotion, “ Heaven 
forbid, that with such a fortune and education, Miss 
Bragwell should be seen at a washing-tub.” This 
vain father, who could bear to hear of her distresses 
and her sins, could not bear to hear of her washing. 
Mr. Worthy stopped him saying, “ As to her fortune, 
you know you refused to give her any; and as to her 
education, you see it had not taught her how to do 
anything better. I am sorry you do not see in this 
instance, the beauty of Christian humility. For my 
own part, I set a greater value on such an active proof 

9 * 


102 


RURAL TALES. 


of it, than on a whole volume of professions.” — Mr. 
Bragwell did not quite understand this, and Mrs. Incle 
went on. “ What to do to get a penny I knew not. 
Making of filagree, or fringe, or card-purses, or cut- 
ting out paper, or dancing and singing, was of no use 
in our village. The shopkeeper, indeed, would have 
taken me, if I had known anything of accounts ; and 
the clergyman could have got me a nursery-maid’s 
place, if I could have done good plainwork. I made 
some awkward attempts to learn to spin and knit, when 
my mother’s wheel or knitting lay by, but I spoiled 
both through my ignorance. At last I luckily thought 
upon the fine netting I used to make for my trimmings, 
and it struck me that 1 might turn this to some little 
account. I procured some twine, and worked early 
and late to make nets for fishermen, and cabbage-nets. 
I was so pleased that I had at last found an opportuni- 
ty to show my good will by this mean work, that I 
regretted my little George was not big enough to con- 
tribute his share to our support, by travelling about to 
sell my nets.” 

“Cabbage-nets!” exclaimed Bragwell; “there is 
no bearing this. — Cabbage-nets ! My grandson hawk 
cabbage-nets ! How could you think of such a scan- 
dalous thing?” “ Sir,” said Mrs. Incle mildly, “I 
am now convinced that nothing is scandalous which 
is not wicked. Besides, we were in want; and neces- 
sity, as well as piety, would have reconciled me to this 
mean trade.” Mr. Bragwell groaned, and bade her 
go on. 

“ In the meantime, my little George grew a fine 
boy ; and I adored the goodness of God, who in the 
sweetness of maternal love, had given me a reward for 
many sufferings. Instead of indulging a gloomy dis- 
trust about the fate of this child, 1 now resigned him 
to the will of God. Instead of lamenting because he 
was not likely to be rich, I was resolved to bring him 
up with such notions as might make him contented to 
be poor. I thought if I could subdue all vanity and 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. ] 03 

selfishness in him, I should make him a happier man 
than if I had thousands to bestow on him ; and I trust- 
ed that I should be rewarded for every painful act of 
self-denial, by the future virtue and happiness of my 
child. Can you believe it, my dear father, my days 
now passed not unhappily ; I worked hard all day, 
and that alone is a source of happiness beyond what 
the idle can guess. After my child was asleep at 
night, I read a chapter in the Bible to my parents, 
whose eyes now began to fail them. We then thank- 
ed God over our frugal supper of potatoes, and talked 
over the holy men of old, the saints, and the martyrs, 
■who would have thought our homely fare a luxury. 
We compared our peace, and liberty, and safety, with 
their bonds, and imprisonment, and tortures ; and 
should have been ashamed of a murmur. We then 
joined in prayer, in which my absent parents and my 
husband were never forgotten, and went to rest in 
charity with the whole world, and at peace in our 
own souls.” 

“Oh ! my forgiving child !” interrupted Mr. Brag- 
well, sobbing ; “and didst thou really pray for thy 
unnatural father ? and didst thou lay thee down in 
rest and peace ? Then, let me tell thee, thou wast 
better off than thy mother and I were. — But no more 
of this ; go on.” 

“ Whether my father-in-law had worked beyond 
his strength, in order to support me and my child, I 
know not, but he was taken dangerously ill. While 
he lay in this state, he received an account that my 
husband was dead in the West-Indies of the yellow 
fever, which has carried off such numbers of our 
countrymen : we all wept together, and prayed that 
his awful death might quicken us in preparing for our 
own. This shock, joined to the fatigue of nursing her 
sick husband, soon brought my poor mother to death’s 
door. I nursed them both, and felt a satisfaction in 
giving them all I had to bestow, my attendance, my 
tears, and my prayers. I, who was once so nice and 


104 


RURAL TALES. 


so proud, so disdainful in the midst of plenty, and so 
impatient under the smallest inconvenience, was now 
enabled to glorify God by my activity and by my sub- 
mission. Though the sorrows of my heart were en- 
larged, I cast my burden on Him who cares for the 
weary and heavy laden. After having watched by 
these poor people the whole night. I sat down to 
breakfast on my dry crust and coarse dish of tea, with- 
out a murmur : my greatest grief was, lest I should 
bring away the infection to my dear boy ; for the fever 
was now become putrid. I prayed to know what it 
was my duty to do between my dying parents and my 
helpless child. To take care of the sick and aged, 
seemed to be my first duty ; so I offered up my child 
to Him who is the father of the fatherless, and he in 
mercy spared him to me. 

“ The cheerful piety with which these good people 
breathed their last, proved to me, that the temper of 
mind with which the pious poor commonly meet 
death, is the grand compensation made them by Provi- 
dence for all the hardships of their inferior condition. 
If they have had few joys and comforts in life already, 
and have still fewer hopes in store, is not all fully made 
up to them by their being enabled to leave this world 
with stronger desires of heaven, and without those 
bitter regrets after the good things of this life, which 
add to the dying tortures of the worldly rich ? To 
the forlorn and destitute, death fs not so terrible as it 
is to him who sits at ease in his possessions , and who 
fears that this night his soul shall be required of him.” 

Mr. Bragwell felt this remark more deeply than his 
daughter meant he should. He wept, and bade her 
proceed. 

“ I followed my departed parents to the same grave, 
and wept over them, but not as one who had no hope. 
They had neither houses nor lands to leave me, but 
they left me their Bible, their blessing, and their ex- 
ample, of which I humbly trust I shall feel the benefits 
when all the riches of this world shall have an end. 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 105 

Their few effects, consisting of some poor household 
goods, and some working-tools, hardly sufficed to pay 
their funeral expenses. I was soon attacked with the 
same fever, and saw myself, as I thought, dying the 
second time ; my danger was the same, but my views 
were changed. I now saw eternity in a more awful 
light than I had done before, when I wickedly thought 
death might be gloomily called upon as a refuge from 
every common trouble. Though I had still reason 
to be humble on account of my sin, yet, by the grace 
of God, I saw death stripped of his sting and robbed 
of his terrors, through him who loved me, and gave 
himself for me ; and in the extremity of pain, my soul 
rejoiced in God my Savior. 

“ I recovered, however, and was chiefly supported 
by the kind clergyman’s charity. When I felt my- 
self nourished and cheered by a little tea or broth, 
which he daily sent me from his own slender provis- 
ion, my heart smote me, to think how I had daily sat 
down at home to a plentiful dinner, without any sense 
of thankfulness for my own abundance, or without 
inquiring whether my poor sick neighbors were star- 
ving : and I sorrowfully remembered, that what my 
poor sister and I used to waste through daintiness, 
would now have comfortably fed myself and child. 
Believe me, my dear mother, a laboring man who has 
been brought Ioav by a fever, might often be restored 
to his work some weeks sooner, if on his recovery he 
was nourished and strengthened by a good bit from a 
farmer’s table. Less than is often thrown to a favorite 
spaniel would suffice; so that the expense would be 
almost nothing to the giver, while to the receiver it 
would bring health, and strength, and comfort, and 
recruited life. And it is with regret I must observe, 
that young women in our station are less attentive to 
the comforts of the poor, less active in visiting the 
cottages of the sick, less desirous of instructing the 
young, and working for the aged, than many ladies 
of higher rank. The multitude of opportunities of 


3 06 


RURAL TALES. 


this sort which we neglect, among the families of our 
father’s distressed tenants and workmen, will I fear, 
one day appear against us. 

“By the time I was tolerably recovered, I was 
forced to leave the house. I had no human prospect 
of subsistence. I humbly asked of God to direct my 
steps, and to give me entire obedience to his will. I 
then cast my eye mournfully on my child ; and 
though prayer had relieved my heart of a load which 
without it would have been intolerable, my tears flow- 
ed fast, while I cried out in the bitterness of my soul, 
How many lured servants of my father have bread 
enough , and to spare , and I perish with hunger. This 
text appeared a kind of answer to my prayer, and 
gave me courage to make one more attempt to soften 
you in my favor. I resolved to set out directly to find 
you, to confess my disobedience, and to beg a scanty 
pittance, with which I and my child might be meanly 
supported in some distant country, where we should 
not, by our presence, disgrace our more happy rela- 
tions. We set out and travelled as fast as my weak 
health and poor George’s little feet and ragged shoes 
would permit. I brought a little bundle of such 
work and necessaries as I had left, by selling which 
we subsisted on the road.” “ I hope,” interrupted 
Bragwell, “ there were no cabbage-nets in it?” “ At 
least,” said her mother, “ I hope you did not sell 
them near home?” “No; I had none left,” said 
Mrs. Incle, “or I should have done it. I got many 
a lift in a wagon for my child and my bundle, which 
was a great relief to me, as I should have had both to 
carry. And here I can not help saying, I wish drivers 
would not be too hard in their demands, if they help 
a poor sick traveller on a mile or two, it proves a great 
relief to weary bodies and naked feet; and such lit- 
tle cheap charities may be considered as the cup of 
cold water , which, if given on right grounds, shall not 
lose its reward .” Here Bragwell sighed to think 
that when mounted on his fine bay mare, or driving 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


107 


his neat chaise, it had never once crossed his mind that 
the poor way-worn foot traveller was not equally at his 
ease, nor had it ever occurred to him that shoes were 
a necessary accommodation. Those who want noth- 
ing are apt to forget how many there are who want 
everything. Mrs. Incle went on : “I got to this vil- 
lage about seven this evening ; and while I sat on the 
church-yard wall to rest and meditate how I should 
make myself known at home, I saw a funeral ; I in- 
quired whose it was, and learned it was my sister’s. 
This was too much for me, and I sank down in a fit, 
and knew nothing that happened to me from that mo- 
ment, till I found myself in the workhouse with my 
father and Mr. Worthy.” 

Here Mrs. Incle stopped. Grief, shame, pride, and 
remorse, had quite overcome Mr. Bragwell. He wept 
like a child, and said he hoped his daughter would 
pray for him ; for that he was not in a condition to 
pray for himself, though he found nothing else could 
give him any comfort. His deep dejection brought on 
a fit of sickness. “ O !” said he, “ I now begin to feel 
an expression in the sacrament which I used to repeat 
without thinking it had any meaning, the remembrance 
of my sins is grievous, the burden of them is intolerable. 
O! it is awful to think what a sinner a man may be, 
and yet retain a decent character ! How many thou- 
sands are in my condition, taking to themselves all the 
credit of their prosperity, instead of giving God the 
glory ! heaping up riches to their hurt, instead of 
dealing their bread to the hungry ! O ! let those who 
hear of the Bragwell family, never say that vanity is 
a little sin. In me it has been the fruitful parent of a 
thousand sins — selfishness, hardness of heart, forget- 
fulness of God. In one of my sons, vanity was the 
cause of rapine, injustice, extravagance, ruin, self- 
murder. Both my daughters were undone by vanity, 
though it only wore the more harmless shape of 
dress, idleness, and dissipation. The husband of my 
daughter Incle it destroyed, by leading him to live 


108 


RURAL TALES. 


above his station, and to despise labor. V anity en- 
snared the souls even of his pious parents, for while 
it led them to wish their son in a better condition, it 
led them to allow such indulgences as were unfit for 
his own. O ! you who hear of us, humble yourselves 
under the mighty hand of God ; resist high thoughts; 
let every imagination be brought into obedience to the 
Son of God. If you set a value on finery look into 
that grave ; behold the mouldering body of my Bet- 
sey, who now says to corruption , thou art my father , 
and to the worm , thou art my mother and my sister. 
Look to the bloody and brainless head of her hus- 
band. O, Mr. Worthy, how does Providence mock 
at human foresight! I have been greedy of gain, that 
the son of Mr. Squeeze might be a great man ; he is 
dead ; while the child of Timothy Incle, whom I had 
doomed to beggary, will be my heir. Mr. Worthy, 
to you I commit this boy’s education ; teach him to 
value his immortal soul more, and the good things of 
this life less than I have done. Bring him up in the 
fear of God, and in the government of his passions. 
Teach him that unbelief and pride are at the root of 
all sin. I have found this to my cost. I trusted in 
my riches ; I said, “ To-morrow shall be as this day 
and more abundant.” I did not remember that for all 
these things God icould bring me to judgment. I am 
not sure that I believed in a judgment: I am not sure 
that I believed in a God.” 

Bragwell at length grew better, but he never re- 
covered his spirits. The conduct of Mrs. Incle 
through life was that of an humble Christian. She 
sold all her sister’s finery which her father had given 
her, and gave the money to the poor ; saying “ It did 
not become one who professed penitence to return to 
the gayeties of life.” Mr. Bragwell did not oppose 
this; not that he had fully acquired a just notion of 
the self-denying spirit of religion, but having a bead 
not very clear at making distinctions, he was never 
able after the sight of Squeeze’s mangled body, to 


THE TWO WEALTHY FARMERS. 


109 


think of gayety and grandeur, without thinking at the 
same time of a pistol and bloody brains ; for, as his 
first introduction into gay life had presented him with 
all these objects at one view, he never afterward could 
separate them in his mind. He even kept his fine 
beaufet of plate always shut ; because it brought to 
his mind the grand unpaid-for sideboard that he had 
seen laid out for Mr. Squeeze’s supper, to the re- 
membrance of which he could not help tacking the 
idea of debts, prisons, executions, and self-murder. 

Mr. BragweU’s heart had been so buried in the love 
of the world, and evil habits had become so rooted in 
him, that the progress he made in religion was very 
slow ; yet he earnestly prayed and struggled against 
sin and vanity; and when his unfeeling wife declared 
she could not love the boy unless he was called by 
their name instead of Incle, Mr. Bragwell would nev- 
er consent, saying he stood in need of every help 
against pride. He also got the letter which Squeeze 
wrote just before he shot himself, framed and glazed ; 
this he hung up in his chamber, and made it a rule to* 
go and read it as often as he found his heart disposed 
to VANITY. 


10 


110 


RURAL TALES. 


II. PARLEY, THE PORTER: 

SHOWING HOW ROBBERS WITHOUT CAN NEVER GET INTO A 
HOUSE, UNLESS THERE ARE TRAITORS WITHIN. 

There was once a certain nobleman who had a 
house or castle situated in the midst of a great wilder- 
ness, but enclosed in a garden. Now there was a band 
of robbers in the wilderness who had a great mind to 
plunder and destroy the castle, but they had not suc- 
ceeded in their endeavors, because the master had 
given strict orders to “ watch without ceasing;." To 
quicken their vigilance he used to tell them that their 
care would soon have an end ; that though the nights 
they had to watch were dark and stormy, yet they 
were but few ; the period of resistance was short, that 
of rest would be eternal. 

The robbers, however, attacked the castle in various 
ways. They tried at every avenue, watched to take 
advantage of every careless moment; looked for an 
open door or a neglected window. But though they 
often made the bolts shake and the windows rattle, 
they could never greatly hurt the house, much less 
get into it. Do you know the reason ? it was because 
the servants were never off their guard. They heard 
the noises plain enough, and used to be not a little 
frightened, for they were aware both of the strength 
and perseverance of their enemies. But what seemed 
rather odd to some of these servants, the lord used to 
tell them, that while they continued to be afraid they 
would be safe ; and it passed into a sort of proverb in 
that family, “ Happy is he that feareth always.” 
Some of the servants, however, thought this a contra- 
diction. 

One day, when the master was going from home, he 


PARLEY, THE PORTER. Ill 

called his servants all together, and spoke to them as 
follows: “I will not repeat to you the directions I 
have so often given you ; they are all written down in 
the book of laws, of which every one of you has a 
copy. Remember, it is a very short time that you 
are to remain in this castle ; you will soon remove to 
my more settled habitation, to a more durable house, 
not made with hands. As that house is never exposed 
to any attack, so it never stands in need of any repair; 
for that country is never infested by any sons of vio- 
lence. Here you are servants; there you will be 
princes. But mark my words, and you will find the 
same in the book of my laws, whether you will 
ever attain to that house, will depend on the manner 
in which you defend yourselves in this. A stout 
vigilance for a short time will secure your certain 
happiness for ever. But everything depends on your 
present exertions. Don’t complain and take advantage 
of my absence, and call me a hard master, and grumble 
that you are placed in the midst of a howling wilder- 
ness without peace or security. Say not, that you 
are exposed to temptations without any power to resist 
them. You have some difficulties, it is true, but you 
have many helps and many comforts to make this house 
tolerable, even before you get to the other. Yours 
is not a hard service ; and if it were, ‘ the time is short.’ 
You have arms if you will use them, and doors if you 
will bar them, and strength if you will use it. I would 
defy all the attacks of the robbers without, if I could 
depend on the fidelity of the people within. If the 
thieves ever get in and destroy the house, it must be 
by the connivance of one of the family. For it is a 
standing laic of this castle , that mere outward attack 
can never destroy it , if there be no consenting traitor 
within. You will stand or fall as you will observe this 
rule. If you are finally happy, it will be by my grace 
and favor; if you are ruined, it will be your own 
fault.” 

When the nobleman had done speaking, every ser- 


112 


RURAL TALES. 


vant repeated his assurance of attachment and firm 
allegiance to his master. But among them all, not 
one was so vehement and loud in his professions as 
old Parley, the porter. Parley, indeed, it was well 
known, was always talking, which exposed him to no 
small danger ; for as he was the foremost to promise, 
so he was the slackest to perform : and, to speak the 
truth, though he was a civil-spoken fellow, his lord 
was more afraid of him, with all his professions, than 
he was of the rest who protested less. He knew that 
Parley was vain, credulous, and self-sufficient ; and he 
always apprehended more danger from Parley’s im- 
pertinence, curiosity, and love of novelty, than even 
from the stronger vices of some of his other servants. 
The rest indeed, seldom got into any scrape, of which 
Parley was not the cause in some shape or other. 

I am sorry to be obliged to confess, that though 
Parley was allowed every refreshment, and all the 
needful rest which the nature of his place permitted, 
yet he thought it very hard to be forced to be so con- 
stantly on duty. “Nothing but watching,” said Par- 
ley. “ I have, to be sure, many pleasures, and meat 
sufficient ; and plenty of chat, in virtue of my office, 
and I pick up a good deal of news of the comers and 
goers by day, but it is hard that at night I must watch 
as narrowly as a house-dog, and yet let in no compa- 
ny without orders ; only because there is said to be 
a few straggling robbers here in the wilderness, with 
whom my master does not care to let us be acquaint- 
ed. He pretends to make us vigilant through fear of 
the robbers, but I suspect it is only to make us mope 
alone. A merry companion and a mug of beer would 
make the night pass cheerily.” Parley, however, 
kept all these thoughts to himself, or uttered them 
only when no one heard, for talk he must. He began 
to listen to the nightly whistling of the robbers under 
the windows with rather less alarm than formerly 
and was sometimes so tired of watching, that he 
thought it was even better to run the risk of being 


FARLEY, THE PORTER. 


113 


robbed once, than to live always in the fear of rob- 
bers. 

There wag certain bounds in which the lord allow- 
ed his servants to walk and divert themselves at all 
proper seasons. A pleasant garden surrounded the 
castle, and a thick hedge separated this garden from 
the wilderness, which was infested by the robbers ; 
in this garden they were permitted to amuse them- 
selves. The master advised them always to keep 
within these bounds. “ While you observe this 
rule,” said he, “you will be safe and well ; and you 
will consult your own safety and happiness, as well 
as show your love to me, by not venturing over to 
the extremity of your bounds; he who goes as far as 
he dares, always shows a wish to go farther than he 
ought, and commonly does so.” 

It was remarkable, that the nearer these servants 
kept to the castle, and the farther from the hedge , the 
more ugly the wilderness appeared. And the nearer 
they approached the forbidden bounds, their own 
home appeared more dull, and the wilderness more 
delightful. And this the mastet knew when he gave 
his orders ; for he never either did or said anything 
without a good reason. And when his servants some- 
times desired an explanation of the reason, he used to 
tell them they would understand it when they came 
to the other house ; for it was one of the pleasures of 
that house, that it would explain all the mysteries of 
this, and any little obscurities in the master’s conduct 
would be then made quite plain. 

Parley was the first who promised to keep clear of 
the hedge , and yet was often seen looking as near 
as he durst. One day he ventured close up to the 
hedge, put two or three stones one on another, and 
tried to peep over. He saw one of the robbers strol- 
ling as near as he could be on the forbidden side. 
This man’s name was Mr. Flatterwell, a smooth civ- 
il man, “ whose words were softer than butter, hav- 

10 * 


114 


RURAL TALES. 


ing war in his heart.” He made several low bows to 
Parley. 

Now, Parley knew so little of the world, that he 
actually concluded all robbers must have an ugly look 
whicji should frighten you at once, and coarse brutal 
manners which would at first sight show they were 
enemies. He thought, like a poor ignorant fellow as 
he was, that this mild specious person could never be 
one of the band. Flatterwell accosted Parley with 
the utmost civility, which put him quite off his guard ; 
for Parley had no notion that he could be an enemy 
who was so soft and civil. For an open foe he would 
have been prepared. Parley, however, after a little 
discourse drew this conclusion, that either Mr. Flat- 
terwell could not be one of the gang, or that if he 
was, the robbers themselves could not be such mon- 
sters as his master had described, and therefore it was 
a folly to be afraid of them. 

Flatterwell began, like a true adept in his art, by 
lulling all Parley’s suspicions asleep ; and instead of 
openly abusing his master, which would have opened 
Parley’s eyes at once, he pretended rather to com- 
mend him in a general way, as a person who meant 
well himself, but was too apt to suspect others. To 
this Parley assented. The other then ventured to 
hint by degrees, that though the nobleman might be 
a good master in the main, yet he must say he was a 
little strict, and a little stingy, and not a little censo- 
rious. That he was blamed by the gentlemen of the 
wilderness for shutting his house against good com- 
pany, and his servants were laughed at by people of 
spirit for submitting to the gloomy life of the castle, 
and the insipid pleasures of the garden, instead of 
ranging in the wilderness at large. 

“It is true enough,” said Parley, who was general- 
ly of the opinion of the person he was talking with, 
4 ‘ my master is rather harsh and close. But to own 
She truth, all the barring, and locking, and bolting, is 
£o keep out a set of gentlemen, who he assures us are 


PARLEY, THE PORTER. 


115 


robbers, and who are waiting for an opportunity to 
destroy us. I hope no offence, sir, but by your livery 
I suspect you, sir, are one of the gang he is so much 
afraid of.” 

Flatterwell. Afraid of me ? Impossible, dear Mr. 
Parley. You see, I do not look like an enemy. I am 
unarmed ; what harm can a plain man like me do ? 

Parley. Why, that is true enough. Yet my mas- 
ter says, if we were to let you into the house, we 
should be ruined soul and body. 

Flatterwell. I am sorry, Mr. Parley to hear so sen- 
sible a man as you are so deceived. This is mere 
prejudice. He knows we are cheerful entertaining 
people, foes to gloom and superstition, and therefore 
he is so morose he will not let you get acquainted 
with us. 

Parley. Well ; he says you are a band of thieves, 
gamblers, murderers, drunkards, and atheists. 

Flatterwell. Don’t believe him; the worst we should 
do, perhaps, is, we might drink a friendly glass with 
you to your master’s health, or play an innocent game 
of cards just to keep you awake, or sing a cheerful 
song with the maids ; now is there any harm in all 
this ? 

Parley. Not the least in the world. And I begin 
to think there is not a word of truth in all my master 
says. 

Flatterwell. The more you know us, the more 
you will like us. But I wish there was not this ugly 
hedge between us. I have a great deal to say, and I 
am afraid of being overheard. 

Parley was now just going to give a spring over the 
hedge, but checked himself, saying, “I dare not come 
on your side, there are people about and everything 
is carried to my master.” Flatterwell saw by this 
that his new friend w T as kept on his own side of the 
hedge by fear rather than by principle, and from that 
moment he made sure of him. “Dear Mr. Parley,” 
said he, “if you will allow me the honor of a little 


116 


RURAL TALES. 


conversation with you I will call under the window 
of your lodge this evening. I have something to tell 
you greatly to your advantage. I admire you exceed- 
ingly. 1 long for your friendship ; our whole broth- 
erhood is ambitious of being known to so amiable 
a person.” — “ O dear,” said Parley, “ I shall be afraid 
of talking to you at night. It is so against my mas- 
ter’s orders. But did you say you had something to 
tell me to my advantage ?” 

Flatter well. Yes, 1 can point out to you how you 
may be a richer, a merrier, and a happier man. If 
you will admit me to-night under the window, I will 
convince you that it is prejudice and not wisdom, 
which makes your master bar his door against us ; I 
will convince you that the mischief of a robber , as 
your master scurrilously calls us, is only in the name; 
that we are your true friends, and only mean to pro- 
mote your happiness. 

“ Don’t say we ,” said Parley, “ pray come alone ; 
I would not see the rest of the gang for the world ; 
but I think there can be no great harm in talking to 
you through the bars, if you come alone; but I am 
determined not to let you in. Yet I can’t say but I 
wish to know what you can tell me so much to my 
advantage; indeed if it is for my good I ought to 
know it.” 

Flatterwell ( going out , turns back). Dear Mr. Par- 
ley, there is one thing I had forgotten. 1 can not 
get over the hedge at night without assistance. You 
know there is a secret in the nature of that hedge ; 
you in the house may get over it into the wilderness 
of your own accord, but we can not get to your side 
by our own strength. You must look about to see 
where the hedge is thinnest, and then set to work to 
clear away here and there a little bough for me, it 
won’t be missed ; and if there is but the smallest hole 
made on your side, those on ours can get through ; 
otherwise we do but labor in vain. To this Parley 
made some objection, through the fear of being seen. 


PARLEY, THE PORTER. 


117 


Flatterwell replied, that the smallest hole from within 
would be sufficient, for he could then work his own 
way. “ Well,” said Parley, “ I will consider of it. 
To be sure I shall even then be equally safe in the 
castle, as I shall have all the bolts, bars, and locks, 
between us, so it will make but little difference.” 

“ Certainly not,” said Flatterwell, who knew it 
would make all the difference in the world. So they 
parted with mutual protestations of regard. Parley 
went home charmed with his new friend. His eyes 
were now clearly opened as to his master’s prejudices 
against the robbers , and he was convinced there was 
more in the name than in the thing. “ But,” said he, 
“though Mr. Flatterwell is certainly an agreeable 
companion, he may not be so safe an inmate. There 
can, however, be no harm in talking at a distance, and 
I certainly won't let him in.” 

Parley, in the course of the day, did not forget his 
promise to thin the hedge of separation a little. At 
first he only tore off a handful of leaves, then a little 
sprig, then he broke away a bough or two. It was 
observable, the larger the breach became, the worse 
he began to think of his master, and the better of 
himself. Every peep he took through the broken 
hedge increased his desire to get out into the wilder- 
ness, and made the thoughts of the castle more irk- 
some to him. 

He was continually repeating to himself, “ I won- 
der what Mr. Flatterwell can have to say so much to 
my advantage? I see he does not wish to hurt my 
master, he only wishes to serve me.” As the hour 
of meeting, however, drew near, the master’s orders 
now and then came across Parley’s thoughts. So to 
divert them, he took up the book. He happened to 
open it at these words : “ My son, if sinners entice 
thee, consent thou not.” For a moment his heart 
failed him. “ If this admonition should be sent on 
purpose?” said he; “but no, ’tis a bugbear. My 
master told me that if I went to the bounds I should 


118 


RURAL TALES. 


get over the hedge. Now I went to the utmost limits, 
and did not get over.” Here conscience put in ; 
“Yes, but it was because you were watched.” — “I 
am sure,” continued Parley, “one may always stop 
where one will, and this is only a trick of my mas- 
ter’s to spoil sport. So I will even hear what Mr. 
Flatterwell has to say so much to my advantage. 1 
am not obliged to follow his counsels, but there can 
be no harm in hearing them.” 

Flatterwell prevailed on the rest of the robbers to 
make no public attack on the castle that night. “My 
brethren,” said he, “you now and then fail in your 
schemes, because you are for violent beginnings, while 
my smoothing insinuating measures hardly ever miss. 
You come blustering and roaring, and frighten peo- 
ple and set them on their guard. You inspire them 
with terror of you, while my whole scheme is to make 
them think well of themselves and ill of their master. 
If I once get them to entertain hard thoughts of him, 
and high thoughts of themselves, my business is done, 
and they fall plump into my snares. So let this deli- 
cate affair alone to me: Parley is a softly fellow ; he 
must not be frightened, but cajoled. He is the very 
sort of a man to succeed with ; and worth a hundred 
of your sturdy sensible fellows. With them we want 
strong arguments and strong temptations; but with 
such fellows as Parley, in whom vanity and sensual- 
ity are the leading qualities (as, let me tell you, is the 
case with far the greater part), flattery and a promise 
of ease and pleasure, will do more than your whole 
battle array. If you will let me manage, I will get 
you all into the castle before midnight.” 

At night the castle was barricaded as usual, and no 
one had observed the hole which Parley had made in 
the hedge. This oversight arose that night from the 
servants’ neglecting one of the master's standing orders 
— to make a nightly examination of the state of things. 
The neglect did not proceed so much from wilful dis- 
obedience, as from having passed the evening in sloth 


PARLEY, THE PORTER. 


119 


and diversion, which often amounts to nearly the same 
in its consequences. 

As all was very cheerful within, so all was very quiet 
without. And before they went to bed, some of the 
servants observed to the rest, that as they heard no 
robbers that night, they thought they might now be- 
gin to remit something of their diligence in bolting 
and barring : that all this fastening and locking was 
very troublesome, and they hoped the danger was now 
pretty well over. It was rather remarkable, that they 
never made these sort of observations, but after an 
evening of some excess, and when they had neglected 
their private business with their master. All, however, 
except Parley, went quietly to bed, and seemed to feel 
uncommon security. 

Parley crept down to his lodge, fie had half a 
mind to go to bed too. Yet he was not willing to 
disappoint Mr. Flatterwell. So civil a gentleman ! 
To be sure he might have had bad designs. Yet what 
right had he to suspect anybody who made such pro- 
fessions, and who was so very civil ? “ Besides, it is 

something for my advantage,” added Parley. “ 1 will 
not open the door, that is certain ; but as he is to come 
alone, he can do me no harm through the bars of the 
windows : and he will think I am a coward if l don’t 
keep my word. No, I will let him see that I am not 
afraid of my own strength; I will show him I can go 
what length I please, and stop short when I please.” 
Had Flatterwell heard this boastful speech, he would 
have been quite sure of his man. 

About eleven, Parley heard the signal agreed upon. 
It was so gentle as to cause little alarm. So much 
the worse. Flatterwell never frightened any one, and 
therefore seldom failed of any one. Parley stole softly 
down, planted himself at his little window, opened the 
casement, and spied his new friend. It was pale star- 
light. Parley was a little frightened ; for he thought 
he perceived one or two persons behind Flatterwell; 
but the other assured him it was only his own shadow, 


120 


RURAL TALES. 


which his fears had magnified into a company. 
“ Though I assure you,” said he, “ I have not a 
friend but what is as harmless as myself.” 

They now entered into serious discourse, in which 
Flatterwell showed himself a deep politician. He 
skilfully mixed up in his conversation a proper propor- 
tion of praise on the pleasures of the wilderness, of 
compliments to Parley, of ridicule on his master, and 
of abusive sneers on the book in which the master’s 
laws were written. Against this last he had always a 
particular spite, for he considered it as the grand in- 
strument by which the lord maintained his servants in 
their allegiance ; and when they could once be brought 
to sneer to the book there was an end of submission 
to the lord. Parley had not penetration enough to see 
his drift. “ As to the book, Mr. Flatterwell,” said 
he, “ I do not know whether it be true or false. I 
rather neglect than disbelieve it. I am forced, indeed, 
to hear it read once a week, but I never look into it 
myself, if I can help it.” — “ Excellent,” said Flatter- 
well to himself, “ that is just the same thing. This 
is safe ground for me. For whether a man does not 
believe in the book, or does not attend to it, it comes 
pretty much to the same, and I generally get him at 
last.” 

“ Why can not we be a little nearer, Mr. Parley,” 
said Flatterwell ; “ I am afraid of being overheard by 
some of your master’s spies. The window from which 
you speak is so high ; I wish you would come down 
to the door.” — “ Well,” said Parley, “ I see no great 
harm in that. There is a little wicket in the door 
through which we may converse with more ease and 
equal safety. The same fastenings will be still between 
, us.” So down he went, but not without a degree of 
fear and trembling. 

The little wicket being now opened, and Flatterwell 
standing close on the outside of the door, they con- 
versed with great ease. “ Mr. Parley,” said Flatter- 
well, “ I should not have pressed you so much to ad- 


PARLEY, THE PORTER. 


121 


mit me into the castle, but out of pure disinterested 
regard to your own happiness. I shall get nothing by 
it, but I can not bear to think that a person so wise 
and amiable should be shut up in this gloomy dungeon, 
under a hard master, and a slave to the unreasonably 
tyranny of his rook of laws. If you admit me, you 
need have no more waking, no more watching.” 
Here Parley involuntarily slipped back the bolt of the 
door. “ To convince you of my true love,” continued 
Flatterwell, “ I have brought a bottle of the most 
delicious wine that grows in the wilderness. You 
shall taste it, but you must put a glass through the 
wicket to receive it, for it is a singular property in this 
wine, that we of the wilderness can not succeed in 
conveying it to you of the castle, without you hold 
out a vessel to receive it.” — “ O here is a glass,” said 
Parley, holding out a large goblet, which he always kept 
ready to be filled by any chance-comer. The other 
immediately poured into the capacious goblet a large 
draught of that delicious intoxicating liquor, with 
which the family of the Flatterwells have for near six 
thousand years gained the hearts, and destroyed the 
souls of all the inhabitants of the castle, whenever they 
have been able to prevail on them to hold out a hand 
to receive it. This the wise master of the castle well 
knew would be the case, for he knew what was in 
men ; he knew their propensity to receive the d^icious 
poison of the Flatterwells ; and it was for this reason 
that he gave them the book of his laws, and planted 
the hedge and invented the bolts, and doubled the lock. 

As soon as poor Parley had swallowed the fatal 
draught, it acted like enchantment. He at once lost 
all power of resistance. He had no sense of fear left. 
He despised his own safety, forgot his master, lost all 
sight of the house in the other country, and reached 
out for another draught as eagerly as Flatterwell held 
out the bottle to administer it. “ What a fool, have I 
been,” said Parley, “to deny myself so long!” — “Will 
you now let me in ?” said Flatterwell. “Ay, that I 

11 


RURAL TALES. 


10*2 
L ** ** 


will,” said the deluded Parley. Though the train was 
now increased to nearly a hundred robbers, yet so in- 
toxicated was Parley, that he did not see one of them 
except his new friend. Parley eagerly pulled down 
the bars, drew back the bolts and forced open the 
locks ; thinking he could never let in his friend soon 
enough. He had, however, just presence of mind to 
say, “ My dear friend, I hope you are alone.” Flat- 
terwell swore he was — Parley opened the door — in 
rushed, not Flatterwell only, but the whole banditti, 
who always lurked behind in his train. The moment 
they had got sure possession, Flatterwell changed his 
soft tone, and cried in a voice of thunder, “Down with 
the castle — kill, burn, and destroy.” 

.Rapine, murder, and conflagration, by turns took 
place. Parley was the very first whom they attacked. 
He was overpowered with wounds. As he fell he 
cried out, “O my master, I die a victim to my unbelief 
in thee, and to my own vanity and imprudence. O 
that the guardians of all other castles would hear me 
with my dying breath repeat my master’s admonition, 
that all attacks from without will not destroy unless 
there is some confederate within. O that the keepers 
of all other castles would learn from my ruin, that he 
who parleys with temptation is already undone. That 
he who allows himself to go to the very bounds will 
soon jump over the hedge ; that he who talks out of 
the window with the enemy, will soon open the door 
to him ; that he who holds out his hand for the cup 
of sinful flattery, loses all power of resisting; that when 
he opens the door to one sin, all the rest fly in upon 
him, and the man perishes as I now do.” 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


123 


III. ALL FOR THE BEST. 

“It is all for the best,” said Mrs. Simpson, when- 
ever any misfortune befell her. She had got such a 
habit of vindicating Providence, that instead of weep- 
ing and wailing under the most trying dispensations, 
her chief care was to convince herself and others, that 
however great might be her sufferings, and however 
little they could be accounted for at present, yet that 
the Judge of all the earth could not but do right. In- 
stead of trying to clear herself from any possible blame 
that might attach to her underthose misfortunes which, 
to speak after the manner of men, she might seem not 
to have deserved , she was always the first to justify 
Him who had inflicted it. It was not that she super- 
stitiously converted every visitation into a 'punishment : 
she entertained more correct ideas of that God who 
overrules all events. She knew that some calamities 
were sent to exercise her faith, others to purify her 
heart ; some to chastise her rebellious will, and all to 
remind her that this “ was not her rest that this 
world was not the scene, for the full and final display 
of retributive justice. The honor of God was dearer 
to her than her own credit, and her chief desire was to 
turn all events to his glory. 

Though Mrs. Simpson was the daughter of a clergy- 
man, and the widow of a genteel tradesman, she had 
been reduced by a succession of misfortunes, to accept 
of a room in an alms-house. Instead of repining at 
the change ; instead of dwelling on her former gentili- 
ty and saying, “ how handsomely she had lived once ; 
and how hard it was to be reduced ; and she little 
thought ever to end her days in an alms-house which 
is the common language of those who were never so well 
off before ; she was thankful that such an asylum w T as 
provided for want and age; and blessed God that it was 


124 


RURAL TALES. 


to the Christian dispensation alone that such pious 
institutions owed their birth. 

One fine evening, as she was sitting reading her 
Bible on the little bench shaded with honeysuckles, 
just before her door, who should come and sit down 
by her Mrs. Betty, who had formerly been lady’s maid 
at the nobleman’s house in the village of which Mrs. 
Simpson’s father had been minister. — Betty, after a 
life of vanity, was, by a train of misfortunes, brought 
to this very alms-house ; and though she had taken no 
care by frugality and prudence to avoid it, she thought 
it a hardship and disgrace, instead of being thankful, 
as she ought to have been, for such a retreat. At first 
she did not know Mrs. Simpson ; her large bonnet, 
cloak, and brown stuff' grown (for she always made her 
appearance conform to her circumstances) being very 
different from the dress she had been used to wear 
when Mrs. Betty has seen her dining at the great 
house ; and time and sorrow had much altered her 
countenance. But when Mrs. Simpson kindly ad- 
dressed her as an old acquaintance, she screamed with 
surprise — “ What ! you, madam ?” cried she : “ you 
in an alms-house, living on charity: you, who used 
to be so charitable yourself, that you never suffered 
any distress in the parish which you could prevent ?” 
“ That may be one reason, Betty,” replied Mrs. Simp 
son, “why Providence has provided this refuge foi 
my old age. — And my heart overflows with gratitude 
when I look back on his goodness.” “ No such great 
goodness, methinks,” said Betty ; “ why you were 
born and bred a lady, and are now reduced to live in 
an alms-house.” “Betty, I was born and bred a sin- 
ner, undeserving of the mercies I have received.” 
“ No such great mercies,” said Betty. “ Why, I 
heard you had been turned out of doors; that your 
husband had broke ; and that you had been in danger of 
starving, thought I did not know what was become of 
you.’’ “It is all true, Betty, glory be to God ! it is all 
true.” 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


125 


“Well,” said Betty, “you are an odd sort of a 
gentlewoman. If from a prosperous condition I had 
been made a bankrupt, a widow, and a beggar, I 
should have thought it no such mighty matter to be 
thankful for: but there is no accounting for taste. 
The neighbors used to say that all your troubles must 
needs be a judgment upon you ; but I who knew how 
good you were, thought it very hard you should suffer 
so much ; but now I see you reduced to the alms- 
house, I beg your pardon, madam, but I am afraid the 
neighbors were in the right, and that so many misfor- 
tunes could never have happened to you without you 
had committed a great many sins to deserve them ; for 
I always thought that God is so just that he punishes 
us for all our bad actions, and rewards us for all our 
good ones.” “So he does, Betty ; but he does it in 
his own way, and at his own time, and not according 
to our notions of good and evil ; for his ways are not 
as our ways. — God, indeed, punishes the bad, and re- 
wards the good ; but he does not do it fully and finally 
in this world. Indeed he does not set such a value on 
outward things as to make riches, and rank, and beauty, 
and health, the reward of piety ; that would be acting 
like weak and erring men, and not like a just and holy 
God. Our belief in a future state of rewards and pun- 
ishments is not always so strong as it ought to be, 
even now ; but how totally would our faith fail, if we 
regularly saw everything made even in this world. 
We shall lose nothing by having pay-day put off. 
The longest voyages make the best returns. So far 
am I from thinking that God is less just, and future 
happiness less certain, because I see the wicked some- 
times prosper, and the righteous suffer in this world, 
that I am rather led to believe that God is more just 
and heaven more certain : for, in the first place, God 
will not put off his favorite children with so poor a lot 
as the good things of this world; and next, seeing that 
the best men here below do not often attain to the best 
things ; why it only serves to strengthen my belief 

11 * 


126 


RURAL TALES. 


that they are not the best things in his eye; and he 
has most assuredly reserved for those that love him 
such ‘ good things as eye has not seen nor ear heard.’ 
God, by keeping man in Paradise while he was inno- 
cent, and turning him into this world as soon as he 
had sinned, gave a plain proof that he never intended 
the world, even in its happiest state, as a place of re- 
ward. My father gave me good principles and useful 
knowledge; and while he taught me by a habit of con- 
stant employment, to be, if I may so say, independent 
of the world ; yet he led me to a constant sense of 
dependence on God.” “ I do not see, however,” 
interrupted Mrs. Betty, “ that your religion has been 
of any use to you. It has been so far from preserving 
you from trouble, that I think you have had more than 
the usual share.” 

“ No,” said Mrs. Simpson ; “ nor did Christianity 
ever pretend to exempt its followers from trouble ; 
this is no part of the promise. Nay, the contrary is 
rather stipulated ; ‘in the world ye shall have tribula- 
tion.’ — But if it has not taught me to escape sorrow, 
I humbly hope it has taught me how to bear it. If 
it has taught me not to feel, it has taught me not to 
murmur. I will tell you a little of my story. As my 
father could save little or nothing for me, he was very 
desirous of seeing me married to a young gentleman 
in the neighborhood, who expressed a regard for me. 
But while he was anxiously engaged in bringing this 
about, my good father died.” 

“ How very unlucky !” interrupted Betty. 

“ No, Betty,” replied Mrs. Simpson, “ it was very 
providential; this man, though he maintained a decent 
character, had a good fortune, and lived soberly, yet 
he would not have made me happy.” “ Why what 
could you want more of a man ?” said Betty. “ Re- 
ligion,” returned Mrs. Simpson. “ As my father 
made a creditable appearance, and was very charita- 
ble ; and as I was an only child, this gentleman con- 
cluded that he could give me a considerable fortune ; 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


127 


for he did not know that all the poor in his parish are 
the children of every pious clergyman. Finding I 
had little or nothing left me, he withdrew his atten- 
tions.” “ What a sad thing !” cried Betty. “No, it 
was all for the best; Providence overruled his covetous- 
ness for my good. 1 could not have been happy with 
a man whose soul was set on the perishable things of 
this world ; nor did I esteem him, though I labored 
to submit my own inclinations to those of my kind 
father. The very circumstance of being left penny- 
less produced the direct contrary effect on Mr. Simp- 
son: he was a sensible young man, engaged in a 
prosperous business : we had long highly valued each 
other ; but while my father lived, he thought me above 
his hopes. We were married ; I found him an 
amiable, industrious, good-tempered man ; he respect- 
ed religion and religious people ; but with excellent 
dispositions, I had the grief to find him less pious than 
I had hoped. He was ambitious, and a little too much 
immersed in worldly schemes; and though I knew it 
was all done for my sake, yet that did not blind me so 
far as to make me think it right. He attached him- 
self so eagerly to business, that he thought every hour 
lost in which he was not doing something that would 
tend to raise me to what he called my proper rank. 
The more prosperous he grew the less religious he 
became ; and I began to find that one might be unhap- 
py with a husband one tenderly loved. One day as 
he was standing on some steps to reach down a parcel 
of goods he fell from the top and broke his leg in two 
places.” 

“ What a dreadful misfortune !” said Mrs. Betty. — 
“ What a signal blessing !” said Mrs. Simpson. “ Here 
I am sure 1 had reason to say all was for the best ; 
from that very hour in which my outward troubles 
began, I date the beginning of my happiness. Severe 
suffering, a near prospect of death, absence from the 
world, silence, reflection, and above all, the divine 
blessings on the prayers and scriptures I read to him, 


128 


RURAL TALES. 


were the means used by our merciful Father to turn 
my husband’s heart. — During this confinement he 
was awakened to a deep sense of his own sinfulness, 
of the vanity of all this world has to bestow, and of 
his great need of a Savior. It was many months be- 
fore he could leave his bed; during this time his busi- 
ness was neglected. His principal clerk took advan- 
tage of his absence to receive large sums of money in 
his name, and absconded. On hearing of this great 
loss, our creditors came faster upon us than we could 
answer their demands ; they grew more impatient as 
we were less able to satisfy them; one misfortune 
followed another; till at length Mr. Simpson became 
a bankrupt.” 

“What an evil!” exclaimed Mrs. Betty. “Yet 
it led in the end to much good,” resumed Mrs. Simp- 
son. “ We were forced to leave the town in which 
we had lived with so much credit and comfort, and to 
betake ourselves to a mean lodging in a neighboring 
village, till my husband’s strength should be recruited, 
and till we could have time to look about us and see 
what was to be done. The first night we got to this 
poor dwelling, my husband felt very sorrowful, not 
for his own sake, but that he had brought so much 
poverty on me, whom he had so dearly loved : I, on 
the contrary, was unusually cheerful : for the blessed 
change in his mind had more than reconciled me to 
the sad change in his circumstances. I was contented 
to live with him in a poor cottage for a few years on 
earth, if it might contribute to our spending a blessed 
eternity together in heaven. I said to him, ‘ Instead 
of lamenting that we are now reduced to want all the 
comforts of life, I have sometimes been almost ashamed 
to live in the full enjoyments of them, when I have 
reflected that my Savior not only chose to deny him- 
self all these enjoyments, but even to live a life of 
hardship for my sake ; not one of his numerous mira- 
cles tended to his own comfort ; and though we read 
at different times that he both hungered and thirsted, 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


129 


yet it was not for his own gratification that he once 
changed water into wine; and I have often been struck 
with the near position of that chapter in which this 
miracle is recorded, to that in which he thirsted for a 
draught of water at the well in Samaria.* It was for 
others, not himself, that even the humble sustenance 
of barley bread was multiplied. See here, we have a 
bed left us I had, indeed, nothing but straw to stuff 
it with, but the Savior of the world, ‘ had not where 
to lay his head.’ My husband smiled through his 
tears, and we sat down to supper ; It consisted of a 
roll and a bit of cheese which I had brought with 
me, and we ate it thankfully. Seeing Mr. Simpson 
beginning to relapse into distrust, the following con- 
versation as nearly as I can remember, took place 
between us. He began by remarking, that it was a 
mysterious Providence that he had been less prosper- 
ous since he had been less attached to the world, and 
that his endeavors had not been followed by that suc- 
cess which usually attends industry. I took the 
liberty to reply : ‘ Your heavenly Father sees on 
which side your danger lies, and is mercifully bring- 
ing you, by these disappointments, to trust, less in the 
world and more in himself. My dear Mr. Simpson,’ 
added I, ‘ we trust everybody but God. As children 
we obey our parents implicitly, because we are taught 
to believe all is for our good which they command or 
forbid. If we undertake a voyage, we trust entirely 
to the skill and conduct of the pilot ; we never torment 
ourselves in thinking he will carry us east, when he 
has promised to carry us west. If a dear and tried 
friend makes us a promise, we depend on him for the 
performance, and do not wound his feelings by our 
suspicions. When you used to go your annual jour- 
ney to London, in the mail-coach, you confided your- 
self to the care of the coachman, that he would carry 
you where he had engaged to do so ; you were not 
anxiously watching him, and distrusting and inquiring 
* John, chap, ii ; and chap. iv. 


130 


RURAL TALES. 


at every turning. When the doctor sends home your 
medicine, don’t you so full}’ - trust in his ability and 
good will, that you swallow it down in full confidence ? 
You never think of inquiring what are the ingredients, 
why they are mixed in that particular way, why there 
is more of one and less of another, and why they 
are bitter instead of sweet! If one does not cure 
you, he orders another, and changes the medicine 
when he sees the first does you no good, or that by 
long use the same medicine has lost its effect ; if the 
weaker fails he prescribes a stronger : you swallow 
all, you submit to all, never questioning the skill or 
the kindness of the physician. God is the only being 
whom we do not trust, though he is the only one who 
is fully competent, both in will and power, to fulfil all 
his promises ; and who has solemnly and repeatedly 
pledged himself to fulfil them in those Scriptures 
which we receive as his revealed will.’ 

“Mr. Simpson thanked me for my little sermon, 
as he called it ; but said at the same time, that what 
made my exhortaiions produce a powerful effect on 
his mind was, the patient cheerfulness with which he 
was pleased to say I bore my share in our misfortunes. 
A submissive behavior, he said, was the best practical 
illustration of a real faith. When he had thanked God 
for our supper, we prayed together ; after which we 
read the eleventh chapter of the epistle to the Hebrews. 
When my husband had finished it, he said, ‘ Surely 
if God's chief favorites have been martyrs, is not that 
a sufficient proof that this world is not a place of hap- 
piness, no earthly prosperity the reward of virtue. 
Shall we after reading this chapter, complain of our 
petty trials? Shall we not rather be thankful that our 
affliction is so light ?’ 

“ Next day Mr. Simpson walked out in search of 
some employment, by which we might be supported. 
He got a recommendation to Mr. Thomas, an opulent 
farmer and (actor, who had large concerns, and wanted 
a skilful person to assist him in keeping his accounts. 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


131 


This we thought a fortunate circumstance ; for we 
found that the salary would serve to procure us at 
least all the necessaries of life. The farmer was so 
pleased with Mr. Simpson’s quickness, regularity, and 
good sense, that he offered us, of his own accord, a 
little neat cottage of his own, which happened to be 
vacant, and told us we should live rent free, and prom- 
ised to be a friend to us.'’ — “ All does seem for the 
best now, indeed interrupted Mrs. Betty. — “We 
shall see,” said Mrs. Simpson, and thus went on. 

“ I now became very easy and very happy ; and 
was cheerfully employed in putting our few things in 
order, and making everything look to the best advan- 
tage. My husband, who wrote all the day for his 
employer, in the evening assisted me in doing up our 
little garden. This was a source of much pleasure 
to us ; we both loved a garden, and we were not only 
contented but cheerful. Our employer had been 
absent some weeks on his annual journey. He came 
home on a Saturday night, and the next morning sent 
for Mr. Simpson to come and settle his accounts, 
which were got behind-hand by his long absence. 
We were just going to church, and Mr. Simpson 
sent back word, that he would call and speak to him 
on his way home. A second message followed, or- 
dering him to come to the farmer’s directly : he 
agreed that he would walk round that way, and that 
my husband should call and excuse his attendance. 

“The farmer more ignorant and worse educated than 
his ploughman, with all that pride and haughtiness 
which the possession of wealth without knowledge or 
religion is apt to give, rudely asked my husband what 
he meant by sending him word that he would not 
come to him till the next day ; and insisted that he 
should stay and settle the accounts then. ‘ Sir,’ said my 
husband, in a very respectful manner, ‘ I am on my 
road to church, and am afraid I shall be too late.’ 
‘Are you so?’ said the farmer; ‘do you know who 
sent for you ? You may, however, go to church, if 


132 


RURAL TALES. 


you will, so you make haste back; and, d’ye hear, you 
may leave your accounts with me, as I conclude you 
have brought them with you ; I will look them over 
by the time you return, and then you and I can do 
all I want to have done to-day in about a couple of 
hours, and I will give you home some letters to copy 
for me in the evening.’ ‘ Sir,’ answered my hus- 
band, ‘ 1 dare not obey you ; it is Sunday.’ ‘ And 
so you refuse to settle my accounts only because it is 
Sunday.’ ‘ Sir,’ replied Mr. Simpson, ‘if you would 
give me a handful of silver and gold I dare not 
break the commandment of my God.’ ‘Well,’ said 
the farmer, ‘but this is not breaking the command- 
ment ; I don’t order you to drive my cattle, or to work 
in my garden, or to do anything which you might 
fancy would be a bad example.’ ‘ Sir,’ replied my 
husband, ‘ the example indeed goes a great way, but 
it is not the first object. The deed is wrong in it- 
self.’ ‘Well, but I shall not keep you from church; 
and when you have been there, there is no harm in 
doing a little business, or taking a little pleasure the 
rest of the day.’ ‘ Sir,’ answered my husband, ‘ the 
commandment does not say thou shalt keep holy the 
Sabbath morning, but the Sabbath day.' ‘ Get out 
of my house, you puritanical rascal, and out of my 
cottage too,’ said the farmer; ‘for if you refuse to 
do my work, I am not bound to keep my engagement 
with you ; as you will not obey me as a master, I shall 
not pay you as a servant.’ ‘ Sir,’ said Mr. Simpson, 
* I would gladly obey you, but I have a Master in 
heaven whom I dare not disobey.’ ‘ Then let him 
find employment for you,’ said the enraged farmer ; 
4 for I fancy you will get but poor employment on 
earth with these scrupulous notions, and so send home 
my papers, directly, and pack off out the parish.’ 
4 Out of your cottage,’ said my husband, ‘I certainly 
will ; but as to the parish, I hope I may remain in 
that if I can find employment.’ 4 1 will make it too 
hot to hold you,’ replied the farmer, ‘so you had 


ALL TOR THE BEST. 


133 


better troop off bag and baggage : for I am overseer, 
and as you are sickly, it is my duty not to let any vag- 
abonds stay in the parish who are likely to become 
chargeable.’ 

“ By the time my husband returned home, for he 
found it too late to go to church, I had got our little 
dinner ready, it was a better one than we had for a 
long while been accustomed to see, and I was unusu- 
ally cheerful at this improvement in our circumstan- 
ces. I saw his eyes full of tears, and oh ! with what 
pain did he bring himself to tell me that it was the 
last dinner we must ever eat in this house. I took his 
hand with a smile, and only said, ‘ The Lord gave 
and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of 
the Lord.’ ‘ Notwithstanding this sudden stroke of 
injustice,’ said my husband, ‘this is still a happy 
country. Our employer, it is true, may turn us out at 
a moment’s notice, because it is his own, but he has 
no further power over us ; he can not confine or pun- 
ish us. His riches it is true, give him power to in- 
sult, but not to oppress us. The same laws to which 
the affluent resort, protect us also. And as to our be- 
ing driven out from a cottage, how many persons of 
the highest rank have lately been driven out from 
their palaces and castles ; persons too, born in a sta- 
tion which we never enjoyed, and used to all the in- 
dulgences of that rank and wealth we never knew, are 
at this moment wandering over the face of the earth, 
without a house or without bread, exiles and beg- 
gars ; while we, blessed be God, are in our own native 
land ; we have still our liberty, our limbs, the protec- 
tion of just and equal laws, our churches, our Bibles, 
and our Sabbaths.’ 

“ This happy state of my husband’s mind hushed 
my sorrows, and I never once murmured ; nay, I sat 
down to dinner with a degree of cheerfulness, en- 
deavoring to cast all our care on ‘Him that careth 
for us.’ We had begged to stay till the next morn- 
ing, as Sunday was not the day on which we liked to 

12 


134 


RURAL TALES. 


remove ; but we were ordered not to sleep another 
night in that house ; so as we had little to carry, we 
marched off in the evening to the poor lodging we 
had before occupied. The thought that my husband 
had cheerfully renounced his little all for conscience 
sake, gave an unspeakable serenity to my mind ; and 
I felt thankful that though cast down we were not for- 
saken : nay, I felt a lively gratitude to God, that while 
I doubted not he would accept this little sacrifice, as 
it was heartily made for his sake, he had graciously 
forborne to call us to greater trials.” 

“ And so you were turned adrift once more ? Well, 
ma’am, saving your presence, I hope you won’t be 
such a fool as to say all was for the best now.” “ Yes, 
Betty : he who does all things well, now made his 
kind Providence more manifest than ever. That very 
night, while we were sweetly sleeping in our poor 
lodging, the pretty cottage, out of whicli we were so 
unkindly driven, was burned to the ground by a flash 
of lightning which caught the thatch, and so com- 
pletely consumed the whole little building that had it 
not been for the merciful Providence who thus over- 
ruled the cruelty of the farmer for the preservation 
of our lives, we must have been burned to ashes with 
the house. ‘ It was the Lord’s doing, and it was 
marvellous in our eyes.’ — ‘ O that men would there- 
fore praise the Lord for his goodness, and for all the 
wonders, that he doeth for the children of men !’ 

“ I will not tell you all the trials and afflictions 
which befell us afterward. I would also spare my 
heart the sad story of my husband’s death.” — “ Well, 
that was another blessing too, I suppose,” said Betty. 
“ Oh, it was the severest trial ever sent me !” replied 
Mrs. Simpson, a few tears quietly stealing down her 
face. “ I almost sunk under it. Nothing but the 
abundant grace of God could have carried me through 
such a visitation ; and yet I now feel it to be the 
greatest mercy I ever experienced ; he was my idol ; 
no trouble ever came near my heart while he was with 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


135 


me. I got more credit than I deserved for my pa- 
tience under trials, which were easily borne while he 
who shared and lightened them was spared to me. I 
had indeed prayed and struggled to be weaned from 
this world, but still my affection for him tied me down 
to the earth with a strong cord : and though I did 
earnestly try to keep my eyes fixed on the eternal 
world, yet I viewed it with too feeble a faith ; I view- 
ed it at too great a distance. I found it difficult to 
realize it — 1 had deceived myself. I had fancied that 
I bore my troubles so well from the pure love of God, 
but I have since found that my love for my husband 
had too great a share in reconciling me to every diffi- 
culty which I underwent for him. I lost him, the 
charm was broken, the cord which tied me down to 
earth was cut, this world had nothing left to engage 
me. Heaven had now no rival in my heart. Though 
my love of God had always been sincere, yet J found 
there wanted this blow to make it perfect. But though 
all that had made life pleasant to me was gone, I did 
not sink as those who have no hope. I prayed that I 
might still in this trying conflict, be enabled to adorn 
the doctrine of God my Savior. 

“ After many more hardships, I was at length so 
happy as to get an asylum in this alms-house. Here 
my cares are at an end, but not my duties.” “ Now 
you are wrong again,” interrupted Mrs. Betty, “your 
duty is now to take care of yourself : for ] am sure 
you have nothing to spare.” “ There you are mis- 
taken again,” said Mrs. Simpson. “ People are so apt 
to fancy that money is all in all, that all the other 
gifts of Providence are overlooked as things of no 
value. I have here a great deal of leisure ; a good 
part of this I devote to the wants of those who are 
more distressed than myself. I work a little for the 
old, and I instruct the young. My eyes are good ; 
this enables me to read the Bible either to those whose 
sight is decayed, or who were never taught to read. I 
have tolerable health ; so that I am able occasionally 


136 


RURAL TALES. 


to sit up with the sick ; in the intervals of nursing, I 
can pray with them. In my younger days I thought 
it not much to sit up late for my pleasure ; shall I 
now think much of sitting up now and then to watch 
by a dying bed ? My Savior waked and watched for 
me in the garden and on the mount ; and shall I do 
nothing for his suffering members? It is only by 
keeping his sufferings in view that we can truly prac- 
tise charity to others, or exercise self-denial to our- 
selves.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Betty, “ I think if I had lived 
in such genteel life as you have done, I could never 
be reconciled to an alms-house ; and I am afraid I 
should never forgive any of those who were the cause 
of sending me there, particularly that Farmer Thom- 
as who turned you out of doors.” 

“Betty,” said Mrs. Simpson, “ I not only forgive 
him heartily, but I remember him in my prayers, 
as one of those instruments with which it has pleased 
God to work for my good. Oh ! never put off for- 
giveness to a dying bed ! When people come to die, 
we often see how the conscience is troubled with sins, 
of which before they hardly felt the existence. How 
ready are they to make restitution of ill-gotten gain ; 
and this perhaps for two reasons ; from a feeling con- 
viction that it can be of no use to them where they 
are going, as well as from a near view of their own 
responsibility. We also hear from the most hardened, 
of death-bed forgiveness of enemies. Even malefac- 
tors at Tyburn forgive. But why must we wait for 
a dying bed to do what ought to be done now ? Be- 
lieve me, that scene will be so full of terror and 
amazement to the soul, that we had not need load it 
with unnecessary business.” 

Just as Mrs. Simpson was saying these words, a 
letter was brought her from the minister of the parish 
where the farmer lived, by whom Mr. Simpson had 
been turned out of his cottage. The letter was as 
follows : — 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


137 


“ Madam — I write to tell you that your old oppress- 
or, Mr. Thomas, is dead. I attended him in his last 
moments. O, may my latter end never be like his ! 
I shall not soon forget his despair at the approach of 
death. His riches, which had been his sole joy, now 
doubled his sorrows ; for he was going where they 
could be of no use to him ; and he found too late that 
he had laid up no treasure in heaven. He felt great 
concern at his past life, but for nothing more than his 
unkindness to Mr. Simpson. He charged me to find 
you out, and let you know that by his will he be- 
queathed you five hundred pounds as some compen- 
sation. He died in great agonies ; declaring with his 
last breath, that if he could live his life over again, he 
would serve God and strictly observe the sabbath. . 

“ Yours, &c. 

“ J. Johnson.” 

Mrs. Betty, who had listened attentively to the let- 
ter, jumped up, clapped her hands, and cried out, 
“ Now all is for the best, and I shall see you a lady 
once more.” “ I am, indeed, thankful for this money,” 
said Mrs. Simpson, “and am glad that riches were not 
sent me till I had learned, as I humbly hope, to make 
a right use of them. But come, let us go in, for I 
am very cold, and find I have sat too long in the night 
air.” 

Betty was now ready enough to acknowledge the 
hand of Providence in this prosperous event, though 
she was blind to it when the dispensation was more 
dark. Next morning she went early to visit Mrs. 
Simpson, but not seeing her below, she went up stairs, 
where, to her great sorrow, she found her confined 
to her bed by a fever, caught the night before by sit- 
ting so late on the bench reading the letter and talk- 
ing it over. Betty was now more ready to cry out 
against Providence than ever. “ What! to catch a 
fever while you were reading that very letter which 
told you about your good fortune ; which would have 

12 * 


138 


RURAL TALES. 


enabled you to live like a lady as you are. I never 
will believe this is for the best ; to be deprived of life 
just as you were beginning to enjoy it !” 

“Betty,” said Mrs. Simpson, “we must learn not 
to rate health or life itself too highly. There is little 
in life, for its own sake, to be so fond of. As a good 
archbishop used to say, ‘ ’tis but the same thing over 
again, or probably worse : so many more nights and 
days, summers and winters ; a repetition of the same 
pleasures, but with less relish for them ; a return of 
the same or greater pains, but with less strength, and 
perhaps less patienee to bear them.’” “Well,” re- 
plied Betty, “ I did think that Providence was at last 
giving you your reward.” “Reward!” cried Mrs. 
Simpson ; “ O, no ! my merciful Father will not put 
me off with so poor a portion as wealth ; I feel I 
shall die.” “ Jt is very hard, indeed,” said Betty, 
“ so good as you are, to be taken off just as your 
prosperity was beginning.” “You think I am good 
just now,” said Mrs. Simpson, “ because I am pros- 
perous. Success is no sure mark of God’s favor; at 
this rate, you, who judge by outward things, would 
have thought Herod a better man than John the Bap- 
tist ; and if I may be allowed to say so, you, on your 
principles, that the sufferer is the sinner, would have 
believed Pontius Pilate higher in God’s favor, than 
the Savior whom he condemned to die, for your sins 
and mine.” 

In a few days Mrs. Betty found that her new friend 
was dying, and though she was struck at her resigna- 
tion, she could not forbear murmuring that so good a 
woman should be taken away at the very instant 
when she came into possession of so much money. 
“ Betty,” said Mrs. Simpson in a feeble voice, “ I be- 
lieve you love me dearly, you would do anything to 
cure me ; yet you do not love me so well as God 
loves me, though you would raise me up, and he is 
putting a period to my life. He has never sent me a 
single stroke which was not absolutely necessary for 


ALL FOR THE BEST. 


139 


me. You, if you could restore me, might be laying 
me open to some temptation from which God, by re- 
moving, will deliver me. Your kindness in making 
this world so smooth for me, I might for ever have 
deplored in a world of misery. God’s grace in af- 
flicting me, will hereafter be the subject of my praises 
in a world of blessedness. Betty,” added the dying 
woman, “ do you really think that I am going to 
a place of rest and joy eternal ?” “ To be sure I do,” 

said Betty. “ Do you firmly believe that I am going 
to the assembly of the first-born ; to the spirits of 
just men made perfect, to God the judge of all ; and 
to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant?” “I 
am sure you are,” said Betty. “And yet,” resumed 
she, “ you would detain me from all this happiness ; 
and you think my merciful Father is using me un- 
kindly by removing me from a world of sin, and sor- 
row, and temptation, to such joys as have not entered 
into the heart of man to conceive ; while it would 
have better suited your notions of reward to defer my 
entrance into the blessedness of heaven, that I might 
have enjoyed a legacy of a few hundred pounds! 
Believe my dying words — all is for the best.” 

Mrs. Simpson expired soon after, in a frame of 
mind which convinced her new friend, that “ God’s 
ways are not as our ways.” 


140 


RURAL TALES. 


IV. TOM WHITE, THE POST BOY. 

Tom White was one of the best drivers of a post- 
chaise on the Bath road. Tom was the son of an 
honest laborer at a little village in Wiltshire : he was 
an active industrious boy, and as soon as he was old 
enough he left his father, who was burdened with a 
numerous family, and went to live with Farmer Hod- 
ges, a sober worthy man in the same village. He 
drove the wagon all the week; and on Sundays, 
though he was not grown up, the Farmer required 
him to attend the Sunday school, carried on under 
the inspection of Dr. Shepherd, the worthy vicar, 
and always made him read his Bible in the evening 
after he had served his cattle ; and would have turned 
him out of his service if he had ever gone to tlie ale- 
house for his own pleasure. 

Tom by carrying some wagon loads of fagots to the 
Bear inn, at Devizes, made many acquaintances in the 
stable-yard. He soon learnt to compare his own 
carter’s frock, and shoes thick set with nails, with the 
smart red jacket, and tight bootsof the post-boys, and 
grew ashamed of his own homely dress; he was re- 
solved to drive a chaise, to get money, and to see the 
world. Foolish fellow! he never considered that, 
though it is true, a wagoner works hard all day, yet 
he gets a quiet evening at home, and undisturbed rest 
at night. However, as tjiere must be chaise-boys as 
well as plough-boys, there was no great harm in the 
change. The evil company to which it exposed him, 
was the chief mischief. He left Farmer Hodges, 
through not without sorrow at quitting so kind a mas- 
ter, and got himself hired at the Black Bear. 

Notwithstanding the temptations to which he was 
now exposed, Tom’s good education stood by him for 


TOM WHITE, THE POST BOY. 141 

some time. At first he was frightened to hear the 
oaths and wicked words which are too often uttered 
in a stable-yard. However, though he thought it very 
wrong, he had not the courage to reprove it, and the 
next step to being easy at seeing others sin is to sin 
ourselves. By degrees he began to think it manly, 
and a mark of spirit in others, to swear ; though the 
force of good habits was so strong, that at first when 
he ventured to swear himself it was with fear, and in 
a low voice. But he was soon laughed out of his 
sheepishness, as they called it ; and though he never 
became so profane and blasphemous as some of his 
companions (for he never swore in cool blood, or in 
mirth, as so many do) yet he would too often use a 
dreadful bad word when he was in a passion with his 
horses. And here I can not but drop a hint on the 
deep folly, as well as wickedness, of being in a great 
rage with poor beasts, who, not having the gift of 
reason, can not be moved like human creatures, with 
all the wicked words that are said to them; though 
these dumb creatures, unhappily, having the gift of 
feeling, suffer as much as human creatures can do, at 
the cruel and unnecessary beatings given them. 
Tom had been bred up to think that drunkenness 
was a great sin, for he never saw F armer Hodges drunk 
in his life, and where a farmer is sober himself his 
men are less likely to drink, or if they do the master 
can reprove them with the better grace. 

Tom was not naturally fond of drink, yet for the 
sake of being thought merry company, and a hearty 
fellow, he often drank more than he ought. As he 
had been used to go to church twice on a Sunday, 
while he lived with the farmer (who seldom used his 
horses on that day, except to carry his wife to church 
behind him) Tom felt a little uneasy when he was 
sent the very first Sunday a long journey with a great 
family; fori can not conceal the truth, that too many 
gentlefolks will travel, when there is no necessity for 
it, on a Sunday, and when Monday would answer the 


142 


RURAL TALES. 


end just as well. This is a great grief to all good and 
sober people, both rich and poor; and it is still more 
inexcusable in the great, who have every day at their 
command. However, he kept his thoughts to him- 
self* though he could not now and then help thinking 
how quietly things were going on at the farmer’s, 
whose wagoner on a Sunday led as easy life as if he 
had been a gentleman. But he soon lost all thoughts 
of this kind, and in time did not know a Sunday from 
a Monday. Tom went on prosperously, as it is called, 
for three or four years, got plenty of money, but saved 
not a shilling. As soon as his horses were once in 
the stable, whoever would might see them fed for 
Tom. He had other fish to fry. — Fives, cards, cudgel- 
playing, laying wagers, and keeping loose company, 
each of which he at first disliked, and each of which 
he soon learned to practise, ran away with all his 
money, and all his spare time ; and though he was 
generally in the way as soon as the horses were ready 
(because if there was no driving there was no pay) 
yet he did not care whether the carriage was clean or 
dirty, if the horses looked well or ill, if the harness 
was whole, or the horses were shod. The certainty 
that the gains of to-morrow would make up for the 
extravagance of to-day, made him quite thoughtless 
and happy ; for he was young, active, and healthy, 
and never foresaw that a rainy day might come, when 
he would want what he now squandered. 

One day being a little flustered with liquor as he 
was driving his return chaise through Brentford, he 
saw just before him another empty carriage, driven 
by pne of his acquaintance : he whipped up his horses, 
resolving to outstrip the other, and swearing dreadful- 
ly that he would be at the Red Lion first — for a pint. 
— “ Done,” cried the other — a wager. Both cut and 
spurred the poor beasts with the usual fury, as if 
tlieir credit had been really at stake, or the lives had 
depended on this foolish contest. Tom’s chaise had 
now got up to that of his rival, and they drove along- 


TOM WHITE, THE POST BOY. 143 

side of each other with great fury and many impreca- 
tions. But in a harrow part Tom’s chaise being in 
the middle, with his antagonist on one side, and a cart 
driving against him on the other, the horses reared, 
the carriages got entangled *, Tom roared out a great 
oath to the other to stop, which he either could not, 
or would not do, but returned a horrid imprecation 
that he would win the wager if lie was alive. — Tom’s 
horses took fright, and he himself was thrown to the 
ground with great violence. — As soon as he could be 
got from under the wheels, he was taken up senseless, 
his leg was broken in two places, and his body much 
bruised. Some people whom the noise had brought 
together, put him in the post-chaise in which the 
wagoner kindly assisted, but the other driver seemed 
careless and indifferent, and drove off, observing with 
a brutal coolness, “ I am sorry I have lost my pint ; I 
should have beat him hollow, had it not been for this 
little accident .” Some gentlemen who came out of 
the inn, after reprimanding this savage, inquired who 
he was, wrote to inform his master, and got him dis- 
charged : resolved that neither they nor any of their 
friends would ever employ him, and he was long out 
of place, and nobody ever cared to be driven by him. 

Tom was taken to one of those excellent hospitals 
with which London abounds. His agonies were 
dreadful, his leg was set, and a high fever came on. 
As soon as he was left alone to reflect on his con- 
dition, his first thought was that he should die, and 
his horror was inconceivable. Alas ! said he, what 
will become of my poor soul ? I am cut off in the 
very commission of three great sins : I was drunk, I 
was in a horrible passion, and I had oaths and blas- 
phemies in my mouth. He tried to pray, but he 
could not ; his mind was all distraction, and he thought 
he was so very wicked that God would not forgive 
him ; because, says he, I have sinned against light 
and knowledge ; I have had a sober education, and 
good examples; I was bred in the fear of God, and 


144 


RURAL TALES. 


the knowledge of Christ, and I deserve nothing but 
punishment. At length he grew light-headed, and 
there was little hope of his life. Whenever he came 
to his senses for a few minutes, he cried out, O ! that 
my old companions could now see me, surely they 
would take warning by my sad fate, and repent before 
it is too late. 

By the blessing of God on the skill of the sur- 
geon, and the care of the nurses, he, however, grew 
better in a few days. And here let me stop to remark, 
what a mercy it is that we live in a Christian country, 
where the poor, when sick, or lame, or wounded, are 
taken as much care of as any gentry ; nay, in some 
respects more, because in hospitals and infirmaries 
there are more doctors and surgeons to attend, than 
most private gentlefolks can afford to have at their 
own houses, whereas there never was an hospital in 
the whole heathen world. Blessed be God for this, 
among the thousand other excellent fruits of the 
Christian religion ! A religion which, like its divine 
founder, while its grand object is the salvation of 
men’s souls, teaches us also to relieve their bodily 
wants. It directs us never to forget that He who for- 
gave sins, healed diseases, and while he preached the 
Gospel, fed the multitude. 

It was eight weeks before Tom could be taken out 
of bed. This was a happy affliction ; for by the 
grace of God, this long sickness and solitude gave him 
t;me to reflect on his past life. He began seriously to 
hate those darling sins which had brought him to the 
brink of ruin. He could now pray heartily ; he con- 
fessed and lamented his iniquities, with many tears, 
and began to hope that the mercies of God, through 
the merits of a Redeemer, might yet be extended to 
him on his sincere repentance. He resolved never 
more to return to the same evil courses, but he did 
not trust in his own strength, but prayed that God 
would give him grace for the future, as well as par- 
don for the past. He remembered, and he was hum- 


TOM WHITE, THE POST BOY. 145 

bled at the thought, that he used to have short fits of 
repentance, and to form resolutions of amendment, in 
his wild and thoughtless days ; and often when he had 
a bad head-ache after a drinking bout, or had lost his 
money at all-fours, he vowed never to drink or play 
again. But as soon as his head was well and his 
pockets recruited, he forgot all his resolutions. And 
how should it be otherwise ? for he trusted in his own 
strength, he never prayed to God to strengthen him, 
nor ever avoided the next temptation. He thought 
that amendment was a thing to be set about at any 
time ; he did not know that it is the grace of God 
which bringeth us to repentance. 

The case was now different. Tom began to find, 
that his strength was perfect weakness , and that he 
could do nothing without the divine assistance, for 
which he prayed heartily and constantly. He sent 
home for his Bible and Prayer-book, which he had not 
opened for two years, and which had been given him 
when he left the Sunday School. He spent the chief 
part of his time in reading them, and derived great 
comfort as well as great knowledge, from this em- 
ployment of his time. The study of the Bible filled 
his heart with gratitude to God, who had not cut him 
off in the midst of his sins; but had given him space 
for repentance; and the agonies he had lately suffered 
with his broken leg increased' his thankfulness, that 
he had escaped the more dreadful pain of eternal mis- 
ery. And here let me remark what encouragement 
this is for rich people to give away Bibles and. goodi 
books, and not to lose all hope, though, for a time, 
they see little or no good effect from it. According 
to all appearance, Tom’s books were never likely tO' 
do him any good, and yet his generous benefactor, 
who had cast his bread upon the waters, found it after 
many days; for this Bible, which had lain untouched 
for years, was at last made the instrument of his ref- 
ormation. God will work in his own good time, and 

13 


146 


RURAL TALES. 


in his own way, but our zeal and our exertions are the 
means by which he commonly chooses to work. 

As soon as he got well, and was discharged from 
the hospital, Tom began to think he must return to 
get his bread. At first he had some scruples about 
going back to his old employ : but, says he sensibly 
enough, gentlefolks must travel, travellers must have 
chaises, and chaises must have drivers : ’ tis a very 
honest calling, and I don’t know that goodness be- 
longs to one sort of business more than another; and 
he who can be good in a state of great temptation, 
provided the calling be lawful, and the temptations 
are not of his own seeking, and he be diligent in 
prayer, may be better than another man for aught I 
know : and all that belongs to us is , to do our duty in 
that state of life in which it shall please God to call us ; 
and to leave events in God’s hand. Tom had rubbed 
up his catechism at the hospital, and ’tis a pity that 
people don’t look at their catechism sometimes when 
they are grown up ; for it is full as good for men and 
women as it is for children ; nay, better; for though 
the answers in it are intended for children to repeat , yet 
the duties enjoined in it are intended for men and women 
to put in practice. It is, if I may so speak, the very 
grammar of Christianity and of our church, and they 
who understand every part of their catechism thor- 
oughly, will not be ignorant of anything which a 
plain Christian need know. 

Tom now felt grieved that he was obliged to drive 
on Sundays. But people who are in earnest and 
have their hearts in a thing, can find helps in all cases. 
As soon as he had set down his company at their 
stage, and had seen his horses fed, says Tom, a man 
who takes care of his horses, will generally think it 
right to let them rest an hour or two at least. In ev- 
ery town it is a chance but there may be a church 
open during part of that time. If the prayers should 
be over, I’ll try hard for the sermon ; and if I dare not 
stay to the sermon it is a chance but I may catch the 


TOM WHITE, THE POST BOT. 147 

prayers; it is worth trying for, however; and as 1 
used to think nothing of making a push, for the sake 
of getting an hour to gamble, I need not grudge to 
take a little pains extraordinary to serve God. By this 
watchfulness he soon got to know the hours of ser- 
vice at all the towns on the road he travelled; and 
while the horses fed, Tom went to church ; and it be- 
came a favorite proverb with him, that prayers and 
provender hinder no man's journey ; and I beg leave 
to recommend Tom’s maxim to all travellers, wheth- 
er master or servant, carrier or coachman. 

At first his companions wanted to laugh and make 
sport of this — but when they saw that no lad on the 
road was up so early or worked so hard as Tom : 
when they saw no chaise so neat, no glasses so bright, 
no harness so tight, no driver so diligent, so clean, or 
60 civil, they found he was no subject to make sport 
at. Tom indeed was very careful in looking after the 
linch-pins ; in never giving his horses too much water 
when they were hot ; nor whatever was his haste, 
would he ever gallop them up hill, strike them across 
the head, or, when tired, cut and slash them, or gallop 
over the stones, as soon as he got into town, as some 
foolish fellows do. What helped to cure Tom of 
these bad practices, was that remark he met with in 
the Bible, that a good man is merciful to his least. He 
was much moved one day on reading the prophet Jo- 
nah, to observe what compassion the great God of 
heaven and earth had for poor beasts : for one of the 
reasons there given why the Almighty was unwilling 
to destroy the great city of Nineveh was, because there 
was much cattle in it. After this, Tom never could 
bear to see a wanton stroke inflicted. Doth God care 
for horses, said he, and shall man be cruel to them ? 

Tom soon grew rich for one in his station, for every 
gentleman on the road would be driven by no other lad 
if careful Tom was to be had. Being diligent, he got 
a great deal of monejr ; being frugal, he spent but lit- 
tle ; and having no vices, he wasted none. He soon 


148 


RURAL TALES. 


found out that there was some meaning in that text 
which says, that Godliness hath the promise of the life 
that now is , as well as that ivliich is to come : for the 
same principles which make a man sober and honest, 
have also a natural tendency to make him healthy 
and rich ; while a drunkard and a spendthrift can 
hardly escape being sick and a beggar. Vice is the 
parent of misery in both worlds. 

After a few years Tom begged a holyday, and made 
a visit to his native village ; his good character had got 
thither before him. He found his father was dead, 
but during his long illness Tom had supplied him with 
money, and by allowing him a trifle every week, had 
had the honest satisfaction of keeping him from the 
parish. Farmer Hodges w r as still living, but being 
grown old and infirm, he was desirous to retire from 
business. He retained a great regard for his old ser- 
vant, Tom ; and finding he was worth money, and 
knowing he knew something of country business, he 
offered to let him a small farm at an easy rate, and 
promised his assistance in the management for the 
first year, with the loan of a small sum of money, that 
he might set out with a pretty stock. Tom thanked 
him with tears in his eyes, went back and took a hand- 
some leave of his master, who made him a present of 
a horse and cart, in acknowledgment of his long and 
faithful services ; for, says he, I have saved many 
horses by Tom’s care and attention, and I could well 
afford to do the same by every servant who did the 
same by me ; and should be a richer man at the end 
of every year by the same generosity, provided I could 
meet with just and faithful servants who deserve the 
same rewards. Tom was soon settled in his new 
farm, and in less than a year had got everything neat 
and decent about him. Farmer Hodges’ long expe- 
rience and friendly advice, joined to his own industry 
and hard labor, soon brought the farm to great per- 
fection. The regularity, sobriety, peaceableness, and 
piety of his daily life, his constant attendance at church 


TOM WHITE, THE POST BOY. 


149 


twice every Sunday, and his decent and devout be- 
havior when there, soon recommended him to the no- 
tice of Dr. Shepherd, who was still living a pattern 
of zeal, activity, and benevolence to all parish priests. 
The doctor soon began to hold up Tom, or, as we 
must now more properly term him, Mr. Thomas 
White, to the imitation of the whole parish, and the 
frequent and condescending conversation of this wor- 
thy clergyman contributed no less than his preaching 
to the improvement of his new parishioner in piety. 

Farmer White soon found out that a dairy could 
not well be carried on without a mistress, and began 
to think seriously of marrying; he prayed to God to 
direct him in so important a business. He knew that 
a tawdry, vain, dressy girl, was not likely to make good 
cheese and butter, and that a worldly ungodly woman 
would make a sad wife and mistress of a family. He 
soon heard of a young woman of excellent character, 
who had been bred up by the vicar’s lady, and still 
lived in the family as upper maid. She was prudent, 
sober, industrious, and religious. Her neat, modest, 
and plain appearance at church (for she was seldom 
seen anywhere else out of her master’s family) was 
an example to all persons in her station, and never 
failed to recommend her to strangers, even before 
they had an opportunity of knowing the goodness of 
her character. It was her character, however, which 
recommended her to Farmer White. He knew that 
favor is deceitful , and beauty is vain , but a woman that 
feareth the Lord , she shall be praised : ay, and not only 
praised, but chosen too, says Farmer White, as he 
took down his hat from the nail on which it hung, in 
order to go and wait on Dr. Shepherd, to break his. 
mind and ask his consent ; for he thought it would 
be a very unhandsome return for all the favors he was 
receiving from his minister, to decoy away his faithful 
servant from her place without his consent. 

This worthy gentleman, though sorry to lose so 
valuable a member of his little family, did not scruple 

13 * 


150 


RURAL TALES. 


a moment about parting with her, when he found h 
would be so greatly to her advantage. Tom was 
agreeably surprised to hear she had saved fifty pounds 
by her frugality. The doctor married them himself, 
farmer Hodges being present. 

In the afternoon of the wedding day, Dr. Shepherd 
condescended to call on farmer and Mrs. White, to 
give words of advice on the new duties they had en- 
tered into ; a common custom with him on these oc- 
casions. He often took an opportunity to drop, in 
the most kind and tender way, a hint upon the great 
indecency of making marriages, christenings, and 
above all, funerals, days of riot and excess, as is too 
often the case in country villages. The expectation 
that the vicar might possible drop in, in his walks, on 
these festivals, often restrained excessive drinking, 
and improper conversation, even among those who 
were not restrained by higher motives, as farmer and 
Mrs. White were. 

What the doctor said was always in such a cheer- 
ful, good-humored way, that it was sure to increase 
the pleasure of the day, instead of damping it. “ Well, 
farmer,” said he, “ and you, my faithful Sarah, any 
other friend might recommend peace and agreement 
to you on your marriage ; but I, on the contrary, re- 
commend cares and strifes.” The company stared — 
but Sarah, who knew that her old master was a 
facetious gentleman, and always had some meaning 
behind, looked serious. “ Cares and strife, sir,” said 
the farmer, “ what do you mean ?” — “ I mean,” said 
he, “ for the first, that your cares shall be who shall 
please God most, and your strifes, who shall serve him 
best, and do your duty most faithfully. Thus, all 
your cares and strifes being employed to the highest 
purposes, all petty cares and worldly strifes shall be 
at an end.” 

“ Always remember, that you have, both of you, a 
better friend than each other.” The company stared 
again, and thought no woman could have so good a 


TOM WHITE, THE POST BOY. 15] 

friend as her husband. “ As you have chosen each 
other from the best motives,” continued the doctor, 
“ you have every reasonable ground to hope for hap- 
piness ; but as this world is a soil in which troubles 
and misfortunes will spring up ; troubles from which 
you can not save one another ; misfortunes which no 
human prudence can avoid : then remember, ’tis the 
best wisdom to go to that friend who is always near, 
always willing, and always able to help you ; and that 
friend is God.” 

“ Sir,” said Farmer White, “I humbly thank you 
for all your kind instructions, of which I shall now 
stand more in need than ever, as I shall have more 
duties to fulfil. I hope the remembrance of my past 
offences will keep me humble, and the sense of my 
remaining sin will keep me watchful. I set out in 
the world, sir, with what is called a good natural dis- 
position, but I soon found to my cost, that without 
God’s grace that will carry a man but a little way. A 
good temper is a good thing, but nothing but the fear 
of God can enable one to bear up against temptation, 
evil company, and evil passions. The misfortune of 
breaking my leg, as I then thought it, has proved the 
greatest blessing of my life. It showed me my own 
weakness, the value of the Bible, and the goodness of 
God. How many of my brother drivers have I seen, 
since that time, cut off in the prime of life by drinking, 
or sudden accident, while I have not only been spared, 
but blessed and prospered. O sir ! ‘it would be the 
joy of my heart, if some of my old comrades, good- 
natured, civil fellows (whom I can’t help loving) could 
see, as I have done, the danger of evil courses before 
it is too late. Though they may not hearken to you, 
sir, or any other minister, they may believe me because 
I have been one of them : and I can speak from ex- 
perience, of the great difference there is, even as to 
worldly comfort, between a life of sobriety and a life 
of sin. I could tell them, sir, not as a thing I have 
read in a book, but as a truth I feel in my own heart, 


152 


RURAL TALES. 


that to fear God and keep his commandments, will 
not only bring a man peace at last, but will make him 
happy now. And I will venture to say, sir, that all the 
stocks, pillories, prisons, and gibbets in the land, 
though so very needful to keep bad men in order, yet 
will never restrain a good man from committing evil 
half so much as that single text, Hcnv shall I do this 
great wickedness and sin against God ?” Dr. Shep- 
herd condescended to approve of what the farmer had 
said, kindly shook him by the hand, and took leave. 


THE PILGRIMS. 


153 


V. THE PILGRIMS. 

Methought I was once upon a time travelling 
through a certain land which was very full of people ; 
but, what was rather odd, not one of all this multitude 
was at home ; they were all bound to a far distant 
country. Though it was permitted by the lord that 
these pilgrims mightassociate together for their present 
mutual comfort and convenience; and each was not 
only allowed, but commanded, to do the others all the 
services he could upon their journey, yet it was decreed, 
that every individual traveller must enter the far country 
singly. There was a great gulf at the end of the jour- 
ney, which everyone must pass alone, and at his own 
risk, and the friendship of the whole united world 
could be of no use in shooting that gulf. The exact 
time when each was to pass was not known to any ; 
this the lord always kept a close secret out of kindness, 
yet still they were as sure that the time must come, 
and that at no very great distance, as if they had been 
informed of the very moment. Now, as they knew 
they were always liable to be called away at an hour’s 
notice, one would have thought they would have been 
chiefly employed in packing up, and preparing, and 
getting everything in order. But this was so far from 
being the case, that it was almost the only thing which 
they did not think about. 

Now, if any of you are setting out upon a little 
common journey, is not all your leisure time employ- 
ed in settling your business at home, and packing up 
every little necessary for your expedition ? And does 
not the fear of neglecting anything you ought to re- 
member, or may have occasion for, haunt your mind, 
and sometimes even intrude upon you unseasonably ? 
And when you are actually on your journey, especially 


154 


RURAL TALES. 


ifyouhave never been to that place before, or are likely to 
remain there, don’t you begin to think a little about the 
pleasures and the employments of the place, and to wish 
to know a little what sort of a place it is ? Don’t you 
wonder what is doing there, and are you not anxious 
to know whether you are properly qualified for the 
business, or the company you expect to be engaged 
in ? Do you never look at the map, or consult the 
gazetteer ? And don’t you try to pick up from your 
fellow-passengers in the stage-coach any little informa- 
tion you can get ? And though you maj* be obliged, 
out of civility, to converse with them on common 
subjects, yet do not your secret thoughts still run upon 
its business, or its pleasures ? And above all, if you 
are likely to set out early, are you not afraid of over- 
sleeping, and does not that fear keep you upon the 
watch, so that you are commonly up and ready be- 
fore the porter comes to summon you ? Reader! if 
this be your case, how surprised will you be to hear 
that the travellers to the far country have not half your 
prudence, though embarked on a journey of infinitely 
more importance, bound to a land where nothing can 
be sent after them, in which, when they are once 
settled, all errors are irretrievable. 

I observed that these pilgrims, instead of being upon 
the watch, lest they should be ordered off unprepared; 
instead of laying up any provision, or even making 
memorandums of what they would be likely to want 
at the end of their journey, spent most of their time 
in crowds, either in the way of traffic or diversion. 
At first, when I saw them so much engaged in con- 
versing with each other, I thought it a good sign, and 
listened attentively to their talk, not doubting but the 
chief turn of it would be about the climate, or treasures, 
or society, they should probably meet with in the far 
country. I supposed they might be also discussing 
about the best and safest road to it, and that each was 
availing himself of the knowledge of his neighbor, on 
a subject of equal importance to all. I listened to 


THE PILGRIMS. 


155 


every party, but in scarcely any did I hear one word 
about the land to which they were bound, though it 
was their home, the place where their whole interest, 
expectation, and inheritance lay ; to which also great 
part of their friends were gone before, and whither they 
were sure all the rest would follow. — Instead of this, 
their whole talk was about the business, or the pleasures, 
or the fashions of the strange but bewitching country 
which they were merely passing through, and in which 
they had not one foot of land which they were sure of 
calling their own for the next quarter of an hour. 
What little estate they had was 'personal , and not real, 
and that was a mortgaged, life-hold tenement of clay, 
not properly their own, but only lent to them on a 
short uncertain lease, of which three-score years and 
ten was considered as the longest period, and very few 
indeed lived in it to the end of the term ; for this was 
always at the will of the lord , part of whose prerogative 
it was, that he could take away the lease at pleasure, 
knock down the stoutest tenement at a single blow, and 
turn out the poor, shivering, helpless inhabitant naked, 
to that far country (or which he had made no provision. 
Sometimes, in order to quicken the pilgrim in his 
preparation, the lord would break down the tenement 
by slow degrees; sometimes he would let it tumble 
by its own natural decay ; for it was only built to last 
a certain term, it would often grow so uncomfortable 
by increasing dilapidations even before the ordinary 
lease was out, that the lodging was hardly worth keep- 
ing, though the tenant could seldom be persuaded to 
think so, but fondly clung to it to the last. — First the 
thatch on the top of the tenement changed color, then 
it fell off and left the roof bare ; then the grinders 
ceased because they were few ; then the windows 
,'ecameso darkened that the owner could scarcely see 
through them ; then one prop fell away, then another, 
then the uprights became bent, and the whole fabric 
trembled and torrered, with every other sympton of a 
falling house. But what was remarkable, the more 


156 


RURAL TALES. 


uncomfortable the house became, and the less pros- 
pect there was of staying in it, the more preposter- 
ously fond did the tenant grow of his precarious habi- 
tation. 

On some occasions the lord ordered his messengers, 
of which he has a great variety, to batter, injure, de- 
face, and almost demolish the frail building, even 
while it seemed new and strong ; this was what the 
landlord called giving warning ; but many a tenant 
would not take warning, and so fond of staying where 
he was, even under all these inconveniences, that at 
last he was cast out by ejectment, not being prevailed 
on to leave his dwelling in a proper manner, though 
one would have thought the fear of being turned out 
would have whetted his diligence in preparing for a 
better and more enduring inheritance. For though 
the people were only tenants at will in these crazy 
tenements, yet, through the goodness of the same 
lord, they were assured that he never turned them out 
of these habitations before he had on his part pro- 
vided for them a better, so that there was not such a 
landlord in the world ; and though their present 
dwelling was but frail, being only slightly run up to 
serve the occasion, yet they might hold their future 
possession by a most certain tenure, the word of the 
Lord himself. This word was entered in a covenant, 
or title-deed, consisting of many sheets, and because 
a great many good things were given away in this 
deed, a book was made of which every soul might get 
a copy. 

This indeed had not always been the case; because, 
till a few ages back, there had been a sort of monop- 
oly in the case, and “ the wise and prudent that is, 
the cunning and fraudful, had hid these things from 
“ the babes and sucklings that is, from the low and 
ignorant, and many frauds had been practised, and the 
poor had been cheated of their right ; so that not be- 
ing allowed to read and judge for themselves, they had 
been sadly imposed upon ; but all these tricks had 


THE PILGRIMS. 


157 


been put an end to more than two hundred years when 
I passed through the country, and the meanest man 
who could read might then have a copy ; so that he 
might see himself what he had to trust to ; and even 
those who could not read, might hear it read once or 
twice every week, at least without pay, by learned and 
holy men, whose business it was. But it surprised 
me to see how few comparatively made use of these 
vast advantages. Of those who had a copy, many 
laid it carelessly by, expressed a general belief in the 
truth of the title-deed, a general satisfaction that they 
should come in for a share of the inheritance, a gen- 
eral good opinion of the lord whose word it was, and 
a general disposition to take his promise upon trust; 
always, however, intending, at a convenient season , to 
inquire farther into the matter; but this convenient 
season seldom came ; and this neglect of theirs was 
construed by their lord into a forfeiture of the inher- 
itance. 

At the end of this country lay the vast gulf men- 
tioned before ; it was shadowed over by a broad and 
thick cloud, which prevented the pilgrims from see- 
ing in a distinct manner what was doing behind it, yet 
such beams of brightness now and then darted through 
the cloud as enabled those who used a telescope provi- 
ded for that purpose, to see the substance of things hoped, 
for ; but it was not every one who could make use of 
this telescope ; no eye indeed was naturally disposed 
to it; but an earnest desire of getting a glimpse of the 
invisible realities, gave such a strength and steadiness 
to the eye which used the telescope, as enabled it to 
discern many things which could not be seen by the 
natural sight. Above the cloud was this inscription : 
The things which are seen are temporal, but the things 
which are not seen are eternal. Of these last things 
many glorious descriptions had been given; but as 
those splendors were at a distance, and as the pilgrims 
in general did not care to use the telescope, these dis- 
tant glories made little impression. 


158 


RURAL TALES. 


The glorious inheritance which lay beyond the 
cloud, was called the things above , while a multitude 
of trifling objects, which appeared contemptibly small 
when looked at through the telescope, were called 
the things below. Now, as we know it is nearness 
which gives size and bulk to any object, it was not 
wonderful that these ill-judging pilgrims were more 
struck with these baubles and trifles, which, by lay- 
ing close at hand, were visible and tempting to the 
naked eye, and which made up the sum of the things 
below , than with the remote glories of the things above; 
but this was chiefly owing to their not making use of 
the telescope, through which, if you examined thor- 
oughly the things below , they seemed to shrink almost 
down to nothing, which was indeed their real size ; 
while the things above appeared the more beautiful 
and vast, the more the telescope was used. But the 
surprising part of the story was this ; not that the pil- 
grims were captivated at first sight with the things be- 
low , for that was natural enough ; but that when they 
had tried them all over and over, and found themselves 
deceived and disappointed in almost every one of them, 
it did not at all lessen their fondness, and they grasped 
at them again with the same eagerness as before. 
There were some gay fruits which looked alluring, 
but on being opened, instead of a kernel, they were 
found to contain rottenness ; and those which seemed 
the fullest, often proved on trial to be quite hollow and 
empty. Those which were most tempting to the eye, 
were often found to be wormwood to the taste, or 
poison to the stomach, and many flowers that seemed 
most bright and gay had a worm gnawing at the root; 
and it was observable that on the finest and brightest 
of them was seen, when looked at through the tele- 
scope, the word vanity inscribed in large characters. 

Among the chief attractions of the things below 
were certain little lumps of yellow clay, on which al- 
most eveiy eye and every heart was fixed. When I 
saw the variety of uses to which this clay could be 


THE PILGRIMS. 


159 


converted, and the respect which was shown to those 
who could scrape together the greatest number of 
pieces, I did not much wonder at the general desire 
to pick up some of them ; but when I beheld the 
anxiety, the wakefulness, the competitions, the con- 
trivances, the tricks, the frauds, the scuffling, the 
pushing, the turmoiling, the kicking, the shoving, the 
cheating, the circumvention, the envy, the malignity, 
which was excited by a desire to possess this article ; 
when I saw the general scramble among those who 
had little to get much, and of those who had much to 
get more, then I could not help applying to these 
people a proverb in use among us, that gold may be 
bought too dear. 

Though I saw that there were various sorts of bau- 
bles which engaged the hearts of different travellers, 
such as an ell of red or blue ribbon, for which some 
were content to forfeit their future inheritance, com- 
mitting the sin of Esau without his temptation of 
hunger ; yet the yellow clay I found was the grand 
object for which most hands were scrambling, and 
most souls were risked. One thing was extraordinary, 
that the nearer these people were to being turned out 
of their tenement, the fonder they grew of these 
pieces of clay ; so that I naturally concluded they 
meant to take the clay with them to the far country , 
to assist them in their establishment in it ; but I soon 
learned this clay was not current there, the lord hav- 
ing farther declared to these pilgrims that as they had 
brought nothing into this world, they could carry noth- 
ing away. 

I inquired of the different people who were raising 
the various heaps of clay, some of a larger, some of 
a smaller size, why they discovered such unremitting 
anxiety, and for whom ? Some, whose piles were 
immense, told me they were heaping up for their 
children ; this I thought very right, till, on casting 
my eyes around, I observed many of the children of 
these very people had large heaps of their own. Oth- 


160 


RURAL TALES. 


ers told me it was for their grandchildren ; but on 
inquiry I found these were not yet born, and in many 
cases there was little chance that they ever would. 
The truth, on a close examination, proved to be, that 
the true genuine heapers really heaped for themselves ; 
that it was, in fact, neither for friend nor child, but to 
gratify an inordinate appetite of their own. Nor was 
I much surprised after this to see these yellow hoards 
at length canker, and the rust of them become a ivitness 
against the hoarders, and eat their flesh as it ivere fire. 

Many, however, who had set out with a high heap 
of their father’s raising, before they had got one third 
of their journey, had scarcely a single piece left. As 
I was wondering what had caused these enormous 
piles to vanish in so short a time, I spied scattered up 
and down the country all sorts of odd inventions, for 
some or other of which the vain possessors of the 
great heaps of clay had truckled and bartered them 
away in fewer hours than their ancestors had spent 
years in getting them together. O what a strange 
unaccountable medley it was ! and what was ridicu- 
lous enough, I observed that the greatest quantity of 
the clay was always exchanged for things that were 
of no use that I could discover, owing I suppose to 
my ignorance of the manners of the country. 

In one place I saw large heaps exhausted, in order 
to set two idle pampered horses a running ; but the 
worst part of the joke was, the horses did not run to 
fetch or carry anything, of course were of no kind 
of use, but merely to let the gazers see which could 
run fastest. Now, this gift of swiftness, exercised to 
no useful purpose, was only one out of many instances, 
I observed, of talents employed to no end. In another 
place I saw whole piles of the clay spent to maintain 
long ranges of buildings full of dogs, on provisions 
which would have nicely fattened some thousands of 
pilgrims, who sadly wanted fattening, and whose rag- 
ged tenements were out at elbows, for want of a little 
help to repair them. Some of the piles were regu- 


THE PILGRIMS. 


161 


larly pulled down once in seven years, in order to cor- 
rupt certain needy pilgrims to belie their consciences, 
by doing that for a bribe which they were bound to 
do from principle. Others were spent in playing 
with white stiff bits of paper, painted over with red 
and black spots, in which I thought there must be 
some conjuring, because the very touch of these 
painted pasteboards made the heaps fly from one to 
another, and back again to the same, in a way that 
natural causes could not account for. There was 
another proof that there must be some magic in this 
bnsiness, which was, that if a pasteboard with red 
spots fell into a hand which wanted a black one, the 
person changed color, his eyes flashed fire, and he 
discovered other symptoms of madness, which showed 
there was some witchcraft in the case. These clean 
little pasteboards, as harmless as they looked, had the 
wonderful power of pulling down the highest piles in 
less time than all the other causes put together. I 
observed that many small piles were given in exchange 
for an enchanted liquor which when the purchaser 
had drunk to a little excess, he lost power of man- 
aging the rest of his heap without losing the love of 
it ; and thus the excess of indulgence, by making him 
a beggar, deprived him of that very gratification on 
which his heart was set. 

Now I find it was the opinion of sober pilgrims, that 
either hoarding the clay, or trucking it for any such 
purposes as the above, was thought exactly the same 
offence in the eyes of the lord ; and it was expected 
that when they should come under his more immedi- 
ate jurisdiction in the far country , the penalty annexed 
to hoarding and squandering would be nearly the 
same. While I examined the countenances of the 
owners of the heaps, I observed that those who I well 
knew never intended to make any use at all of their 
heap, w r ere far more terrified at the thought of losing 
it, or of being torn from it, than those were who were 
employing it in the most useful manner. Those who 

14 * 


162 


RURAL TALES. 


best knew what to do with it, set their hearts least 
upon it, and were always most willing to leave it. 
But such riddles were common in this odd countiy. 
It was indeed a very land of paradoxes. 

Now I wondered why these pilgrims, who were 
naturally made erect with an eye formed to look up 
to the things above , yet had their eyes almost constant- 
ly bent in the other direction, riveted on the earth, and 
fastened on things below, just like those animals who 
walk on all four. I was told they had not always 
been subject to this weakness of sight, and proneness 
to earth : that they had originally been upright and 
beautiful, having been created after the image of the 
lord, who was himself the perfection of beauty ; that 
he had, at first, placed them in a far superior situation, 
which he had given them in perpetuity ; but that their 
first ancestors fell from it through pride and careless- 
ness ; that upon this the freehold was taken away, 
they lost their original strength, brightness, and 
beauty, and were driven out into this strange country, 
where, however, they had every opportunity given 
them of recovering their original health, and the lord’s 
favor and likeness ; for they were become so disfig- 
ured, and were grown so unlike him, that you would 
hardly believe they were his own children, though, 
n some, the resemblance was become again visible. 

I was sorry to observe many of the fairer part of 
these pilgrims spend too much of their heaps in adorn- 
ing and beautifying their tenements of clay, in paint- 
ing, white-washing, and enamelling them. All those 
tricks, however, did not preserve them from decay ; 
and when they grew old, they looked worse for all 
this cost and varnish. Some, however, acted a more 
sensible part, and spent no more upon their moulder- 
ing tenements than just to keep them whole and clean, 
and in good repair, which is what every tenant ought 
to do ; and I observed that those who were most 
moderate in the care of their own tenements, were 
most attentive to repair and warm the ragged tenements 


THE PILGRIMS. 


163 


of others. But none did this with much zeal or ac- 
ceptance, but those who had acquired a habit of over- 
looking the things below , and who also ; by the constant 
use of the telescope had got their natural weak and 
dim sight so strengthened, as to be able to discern 
pretty distinctly the nature of the things above . The 
habit of fixing their eyes on these glories made all 
the shining trifles, which compose the mass of things 
below , at last appear in their own diminutive littleness. 
For it was in this case particularly true, that things 
are only big or little by comparison ; and there was 
no other way of making the things below , appear as 
small as they really were, but by comparing them, by 
means of the telescope, with the things above. But I 
observed that the false judgment of the pilgrims ever 
kept pace with their wrong practices ; for those who 
kept their eyes fastened on the things below , were 
reckoned wise in their generation, while the few who 
looked forward to the future glories, were accounted 
by the bustlers, or heapers, to be either fools or mad. 

Most of these pilgrims went on in adorning their 
tenements, adding to their heaps, grasping the things 
below as if they would never let them go, shutting 
their eyes, instead of using their telescope, and neg- 
lecting their title deed, as if it was the parchment of 
another man’s estate, and not of their own ; till one 
after another each felt his tenement tumbling about 
his ears. — Oh ! then what a busy, bustling, anxious, 
terrifying, distracting moment was that ! What a 
deal of business was to be done, and what a strange 
time was this to do it in ! Now, to see the confusion 
and dismay occasioned by having left everything to 
the last minute. First, some one was sent for to make 
over the yellow heaps to another, which the heaper 
now found would be of no use to himself in shooting 
the gulf ; a transfer which ought to have been made 
while the tenement was sound. Then there was a con- 
sultation between two or three masons at once perhaps, 
to try to patch up the walls, and strengthen the props, 


164 


RURAL TALES. 


and stop the decays of the tumbling tenement ; but 
not till the masons were forced to declare it was past 
repairing (a truth they were rather too apt to keep 
back) did the tenant seriously think it was time to 
pack up, prepare, and begone. Then what sending 
for the wise men who professed to explain the title 
deed ! And oh ! what remorse that they had neglect- 
ed to examine it till their senses were too confused for 
so weighty a business ! What reproaches, or what 
exhortations to others, to look better after their own 
affairs than they had done. Even to the wisest of the 
inhabitants the falling of their tenements was a solemn 
thing ; solemn but not surprising; they had long been 
packing up and preparing; they praised their lord’s 
goodness that they had been suffered to stay so long ; 
many acknowledged the mercy of their frequent warn- 
ings, and confessed that those very dilapidations which 
had made the house uncomfortable had been a bles- 
sing, as it had set them on diligent preparation for their 
future inheritance ; had made them more earnest in 
examining their title to it, and had set them on such 
a frequent application to the telescope, that the things 
above had seemed every day to approach nearer and 
nearer, and the things below to recede and vanish in 
proportion. These desired not to be unclothed, but to 
be clothed upon, for they lcnew that if their tabernacle ivas 
dissolved, they had an house not made with hands, eter- 
nal in the heavens. 


THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 


165 


VI. THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 

Once upon a time methought I set out upon a long 
journey, and the place through which I travelled ap- 
peared to be a dark valley, which was called the Valley 
of Tears. It had obtained this name, not only on ac- 
count of the many sorrowful adventures which poor 
passengers commonly meet with in their journey 
though it ; but also because most of these travellers 
entered it weeping and crying, and left it in very great 
pain and anguish. This vast valley was full of people 
of all colors, ages, sizes and descriptions. But whether 
white, or black, or tawny, all were travelling the same 
road ; or rather they were taking different little paths 
which all led to the same common end. 

Now it was remarkable, that notwithstanding the 
different complexions, ages, and tempers of this vast 
variety of people, yet all resembled each other in this 
one respect, that each had a burden on his back 
which he was destined to carry through the toil and 
heat of the day, until he should arrive, by a longer or 
shorter course, at his journey’s end. These burdens 
would in general have made the pilgrimage quite in- 
tolerable, had not the lord of the valley, out of his great 
compassion for these poor pilgrims, provided, among 
other things, the following means for their relief: — 

In their full view over the entrance of the valley, 
there were written, in great letters of gold, the follow- 
ing words : — 

Bear ye one another's burdens. 

Now I saw in my vision that many of the travellers 
hurried on without stopping to read this inscription, 
and others, though they had once read it, yet paid 
little or no attention to it. A third sort thought it 


166 


RURAL TALES. 


very good advice for other people, but very seldom 
applied it to themselves. They uniformly desired to 
avail themselves of the assistance which by this injunc- 
tion others were bound to offer them, but seldom con- 
sidered that the obligation was mutual, and that re- 
ciprocal wants and reciprocal services formed the 
strong cord in the bond of charity. In short, I saw 
that too many of these people were of opinion that 
they had burdens enough of their own, and that 
there was therefore no occasion to take upon them 
those of others ; so each tried to make his own load 
as light, and his own journey as pleasant as he could, 
without so much as once casting a thought on a poor 
overloaded neighbor. Here, however, I have to make 
a rather singular remark, by which I shall plainly show 
the folly of these selfish people. Jt was so ordered 
and contrived by the lord of this valley, that if any one 
stretched out his hand to lighten a neighbor’s burden, 
in fact he never failed to find that he at that moment 
also lightened his own. Besides the benefit of help- 
ing each other, was as mutual as the obligation. If a 
man helped his neighbor, it commonly happened that 
some other neighbor came by-and-by and helped him 
in his turn ; for there was no such thing as what we 
called independence in the whole valley. Not one of 
all these travellers, however stout and strong, could 
move on comfortably without assistance, for so the 
lord of the valley, whose laws were all of them kind 
and good, had expressly ordained. 

I stood still to watch the progress of these poor 
wayfaring people, who moved slowly on, like so many 
ticket-porters, with burdens of various kinds on their 
backs ; of which some were heavier, and some were 
lighter, but from a burden of one kind or other, not 
one traveller was entirely free. There might be some 
difference in the degree, and some distinction in the 
nature, but exemption there was none. 

The Widow.— A sorrowful widow, oppressed with 
the burden of grief for the loss of an affectionate hus- 


THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 


167 


band, moved heavily on ; and would have been bowed 
down by her heavy load, had not the surviving chil- 
dren with great alacrity stepped forward and support- 
ed her. Their kindness after a while, so much light- 
ened the load which threatened at first to be intolerable, 
that she even went on her way with cheerfulness, and 
more than repaid their help, by applying the strength 
she derived from it to their future assistance. 

The Husband . — I next saw a poor old man totter- 
ing under a burden so heavy, that I expected him ev- 
ery moment to sink under it. I peeped into his pack, 
and saw it was made up of many sad articles ; there 
were poverty, oppression, sickness, debt, and, what 
made by far the heaviest part, undutiful children. I 
was wondering how it was that he got on even so well 
as he did, till I spied his wife, a kind, meek, Christian 
woman, who was doing her utmost to assist him. 
She quietly got behind, gently laid her shoulder to the 
burden, and carried a much larger portion of it than 
appeared to me when I was at a distance. It was not 
the smallest part of the benefit that she was anxious 
to conceal it. She not only sustained him by her 
strength, but cheered him by her counsels. She told 
him, that “ through much tribulation we must enter 
into rest;” that “he that overcometh shall inherit all 
things.” In short, she so supported his fainting spirit, 
that he was enabled to “ run with patience the race 
which was set before him.” 

The Kind Neighbor . — An infirm blind woman was 
creeping forward with a very heavy burden, in which 
were packed sickness and want, with numberless other 
of those raw materials, out of which human misery is 
worked up. She was so weak that she could not 
have got on at all, had it not been for the kind assis- 
tance ofanother woman almost as poor as herself; who, 
though she had no light burden of her own, cheer- 
fully lent a helping hand to a fellow traveller who was 
still more heavily laden. This friend had indeed little 
or nothing to give, but the very voice of kindness is 


168 


RURAL TALES. 


soothing to the weary. And I remarked in many 
other cases, that it was not so much the degree of the 
help afforded, as the manner of helping that lightened 
the burdens. Some had a coarse, rough, clumsy 
way of assisting a neighbor, which, though in fact it 
might be of real use, yet seemed, by galling the 
traveller, to add to the load it was intended to lighten ; 
while I observed in others that so cheap a kindness as 
a mild word, or even an affectionate look made a poor 
burdened wretch move on cheerily. — The bare feeling 
that some human being cared for him, seemed to lighten 
the load. — But to return to this kind neighbor. She 
had a little old book in her hand, the covers of which 
were torn out by much use. When she saw the 
blind woman ready to faint, she would read her a few 
words out of this book, such as the following — “Bles- 
sed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of 
heaven.” — “ Blessed are they that mourn, for they 
shall be comforted.” — “ I will never leave thee nor 
forsake thee.” — “ F or our light affliction, which is but 
for a moment, worketh out for us a far more exceed- 
ing and eternal weight of glory.” These quickened 
the pace, and sustained the spirits of the blind traveller : 
and the kind neighbor by thus directing the attention 
of the poor sufferer to the blessings of a better world, 
helped to enable her to sustain the afflictions of this, 
more effectually than if she had had gold and silver to 
bestow on her. 

The Clergyman . — A pious minister, sinking under 
the weight of a distressed parish, whose worldly wants 
he was totally unable to bear, was suddenly relieved 
by a charitable widow, who came up and took all the 
sick and hungry on her own shoulders as her part of 
the load. The burden of the parish thus divided be- 
came tolerable. The minister being no longer bowed 
down by the temporal distresses of his people, applied 
himself cheerfully to his own part of the weight. 
And it was pleasant to see how those two persons, 
neither of them very strong, or rich, or healthy, by 


THE VALLEY OF TEARS. 


169 


thus kindly uniting together, were enabled to bear the 
weight of a whole parish; though singly, either of 
them must have sunk under the attempt. And I re- 
member one great grief I felt during my whole jour- 
ney was, that I did not see more of this union and 
concurring kindness, more of this acting in concert, 
by which all the burdens might have been so easily 
divided. It troubled me to observe, that of all the 
laws of the valley there was not one more frequently 
broken than the law of kindness . 

Among the travellers, I had occasion to remark, 
that those who most kicked and struggled under their 
burdens, only made them so much the heavier, for 
their shoulders became extremely galled by those vain 
and ineffectual struggles. The load, if borne patient- 
ly, would in the end have turned even to the advan- 
tage of the bearers, for so the lord of the valley had 
kindly decreed; but as to these grumblers, they had 
all the smart, and none of the benefit; they had the 
present suffering without the future reward. But 
the thing which made all these burdens seem so very 
heavy was, that in every one without exception, there 
was a certain inner packet, which most of the travellers 
took pains to conceal, and kept carefully wrapped up; 
and while they were forward enough to complain of 
the other part of their burdens, few said a word about 
this, though in truth it was the pressing weight of 
this secret packet which served to render the general 
burden so intolerable. In spite of all their caution, I 
contrived to get a peep at it. I found in each that 
this packet had the same label; the word sin was 
written on all as a general title, and in ink so black, 
that they could not wash it out. I observed that most 
of them took no small pains to hide the writing ; but 
I was surprised to see that they did not try to get rid 
of the load, but the label. If any kind friend who 
assisted these people in bearing their burdens, did but 
so much as hint at the secret packet , or advise them 
to get rid of it, they took fire at once, and commonly 


170 


RURAL TALES. 


denied they had any such article in their portmanteau; 
and it was those whose secret packet swelled to the 
most enormous size, who most stoutly denied they 
had any. 

I saw with pleasure, however, that some who had 
long labored heartily to get rid of this inward packet, 
at length found it much diminished, and the more this 
packet shrunk in size, the lighter was the other part 
of their burden also. I observed, moreover, that 
though the label always remained in some degree 
indelible, yet that those who were earnest to get rid 
of the load, found that the original traces of the label 
grew fainter also ; it was never quite obliterated in any, 
though in some cases it seemed nearly effaced. 

Then methought, all at once, I heard a voice, as it 
had been the voice of an angel, crying out and saying, 
“Ye unhappy pilgrims, why are ye troubled about 
the burden which ye are doomed to bear through 
this valley of tears ? Know ye not, that as soon as 
ye shall have escaped out of this valley the whole 
burden shall drop off, provided ye neglect not to re- 
move that inward weight, that secret load of sin which 
principally oppresses you? Study then the whole 
will of the lord of this valley. Learn from him how 
this heavy part of your burdens may now be lessened, 
and how at last it shall be removed for ever. Be com- 
forted. Faith and hope may cheer you even in this 
valley. The passage, though it seems long to weary 
travellers, is comparatively short ; for beyond there is 
a land of everlasting rest, where ye shall hunger no 
more, neither thirst any more, where ye shall be led 
by living fountains of waters, and all tears shall be 
wiped away from your eyes.” 


THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAT. 171 


VII. THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD 

WAY. 

I had a second vision of what was passing in the 
Valley of Tears. Methought I saw again the same 
kind of travellers, and they were wandering at large 
through the same vast wilderness. At first setting out 
on his journey, each traveller had a small lamp so 
fixed in his bosom that it seemed to make a part of 
himself; but as this natural light did not prove to be 
sufficient to direct them in the right way, the king of 
the country, in pity to their wanderings and blindness, 
out of his gracious condescension, promised to give 
these poor wayfaring people an additional supply of 
light from his own royal treasury. But as he did not 
choose to lavish his favors where there seemed no 
disposition to receive them, he would not bestow any 
of his oil on such as did not think it worth asking for. 
“ Ask and ye shall have,” was the universal rule he 
had laid down for them. But though they knew the 
condition of the obligation, many were prevented from 
asking through pride and vanity, for they thought they 
had light enough already, preferring the feeble glim- 
merings of their own lamp, to all the offered light 
from the king’s treasury. Yet it was observed of those 
who rejected it, as thinking they had enough, that 
hardly any acted up to what even their own natural 
light showed them. Others were deterred from ask- 
ing, because they were told that this light not only 
pointed out the dangers and difficulties of the road, 
but by a certain reflecting power, it turned inward on 
themselves, and revealed to them ugly sights in their 
own hearts, to which they rather chose to be blind ; 
for those travellers were of that preposterous number 
who “ chose darkness rather than light,” and for the 


172 


RURAL TALES. 


old obvious reason, “ because their deeds were evil.” 
Now, it was remarkable that these two properties 
were inseparable, and that the lamp would be of little 
outward use, except to those who used it as an inter- 
nal reflector. A threat and a promise also never failed 
to accompany the offer of this light from the king ; a 
promise that to those who improved what they had, 
more should be given ; and a threat, that from those 
who did not use it wisely, should be taken away even 
what they had. 

I observed that when the road was very dangerous ; 
when terrors, and difficulties, and death beset the 
fervent traveller; then, on their faithful importunity, 
the king voluntarily gave large and bountiful supplies 
of light, such as in common seasons never could have 
been expected : always proportioning the quantity 
given to the necessity of the case ; “ as their day was, 
such was their light and strength.” 

Though many chose to depend entirely on their 
own original lamp, yet it was observed that this light 
was apt to go out if left to itself. It was easily blown 
out by those violent gusts which were perpetually 
howling through the wilderness ; and indeed it was 
the natural tendency of that unwholesome atmosphere 
to extinguish it, just as you have seen a candle go out 
when exposed to the vapors and foul air of a damp 
room. It was a melancholy sight to see multitudes 
of travellers heedlessly pacing on, boasting they had 
light enough of their own, and despising the offer of 
more. But what astonished me most of all was, to see 
many, and some of them too accounted men of first 
rate wit, actually busy in blowing out their own light, 
because while any spark of it remained, it only served 
to torment them, and point out things which they did 
not wish to see. And having once blown out their 
own light, they were not easy till they had blown out 
that of their neighbors also ; so that a good part of the 
wilderness seemed to exhibit a sort of universal blind- 
man's buff , each endeavoring to catch his neighbor, 


THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAT. 173 

while his own voluntary blindness exposed him to be 
caught himself ; so that each was actually falling into 
the snare he was laying for another, till at length, as 
selfishness is the natural consequence of blindness, 
“catch he that catch can,” became the general motto 
of the wilderness. 

I saw in my vision, that there were some who were 
busy in strewing the most gaudy flowers over the 
numerous bogs, and precipices, and pitfalls with which 
the wilderness abounded ; and thus making danger 
and death look so gay, the poor thoughtless creatures 
seemed to delight in their own destruction. Those 
pitfalls did not appear deep or dangerous to the eye, 
because over them were raised gay edifices with allur- 
ing names. These were filled with singing men and 
singing women, and with dancing, and feasting, and 
gaming, and drinking, and jollity, and madness. But 
though the scenery was gay, the footing was unsound. 
The floors were full of holes, through which the un- 
thinking merry-makers were continually sinking. 
Some tumbled through in the middle of a song ; more 
at the end of a feast; and though there were many a 
cup of intoxication wreathed round with flowers, yet 
there was always poison at the bottom. But what 
most surprised me, was that though no day passed over 
their heads in which some of the most merry-makers 
did not drop through, yet their loss made little im- 
pression on those who were left. Nay, instead of be- 
ing awakened to more circumspection and self-denial 
by the continual dropping off of those about them, 
several of them seemed to borrow from thence an argu- 
ment of a direct contrary tendency, and the very short- 
ness of time was only urged as a reason to use it more 
sedulously for the indulgence in sensual delights. 
“ Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die.” “ Let 
us crown ourselves with rose-buds before they are 
withered.” With these and a thousand other such 
little inscriptions, the gay garlands of the wilderness 
were decorated. Some admired poets were set to 

15 * 


174 


RURAL TALES. 


work to set the most corrupt sentiments to the most 
harmonious tunes ; these were sung without scruple, 
chiefly indeed by the looser sons of riot, but not sel- 
dom also by the more orderly daughters of sobriety, 
who were not ashamed to sing to the sound of instru- 
ments, sentiments so corrupt and immoral, that 
they would have blushed to speak or read them : 
but the music seemed to sanctify the corruption, es- 
pecially such as was connected with love or drinking. 

I observed that all the travellers who had so much 
as a spark of life left, seemed every now and then, as 
they moved onward, to cast an eye, though with veiy 
different degrees of attention, toward the Happy 
Land, which they were told lay at the end of their 
journey; but as they could not see very far forward, 
and as they knew there was a dark and shadowy val- 
ley which must needs be crossed before they could 
attain to the Happy Land, they tried to turn their 
attention from it as much as they could. The truth 
is, they were not sufficiently apt to consult a map and 
a road-book which the king had given them, and 
which pointed out the path to the Happy Land so 
clearly, that the “ wayfaring men, though simple, 
could not err.” This map also defined very correct- 
ly the boundaries of the Happy Land from the Land 
of Misery, both of which lay on the other side of the 
dark and shadowy valley ; but so many beacons and 
light-houses were erected, so many clear and explicit 
directions furnished for avoiding the one country and 
attaining the other, that it was not the king’s fault, if 
even one single traveller got wrong. But I am in- 
clined to think that, in spite of the map and the road- 
book, and the king’s word, and his offers of assistance 
to get them thither, that the travellers in general did 
not heartily and truly believe, after all, that there was 
any such country as the Happy Land. ; or at least the 
paltry and transient pleasures of the wilderness so 
besotted them, the thoughts of the dark and shadowy 
valley so frightened them, that they thought they 


THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAY. 175 

should be more comfortable by banishing all thought 
and forecast, and driving the subject quite out of their 
heads. 

I also saw in my dream, that there were two roads 
through the wilderness, one of which every traveller 
must needs take. The first was narrow, and difficult, 
and rough, but it was infallibly safe. It did not admit 
the traveller to stray either to the right hand or to the 
left, yet it was far from being destitute of real comforts 
or sober pleasures. The other was a broad and tempt- 
ing way , abounding with luxurious fruits and gaudy 
flowers, to tempt the eye and please the appetite. 
To forget this dark valley, through which every 
traveller was well assured he must one day pass, 
seemed the object of general desire. To this grand 
end, all that human ingenuity could invent was in- 
dustriously set to work. The travellers read, and 
they wrote, and they painted, and they sung, and they 
danced, and they drank, as they went along, not so 
much because they all cared for these things, or had 
any real joy in them, as because this restless activity 
served to divert their attention from ever being fixed 
on the dark and shadowy valley. 

I also saw in my dream, that many travellers who 
had a strong dread of ending at the Land of Misery 
walked up to the Strait Gate, hoping that though 
the entrance was narrow, yet if they could once get 
in, the road would widen ; but what was their grief, 
when on looking more closely they saw written on 
the inside, “Narrow is the way;” this made them 
take fright; they compared the inscriptions with which 
the whole way was lined, such as, “Be ye not con- 
formed to this world; deny yourselves, take up your 
cross,” with all the tempting pleasures of the wilder- 
ness. Some indeed recollected the fine descriptions 
they had read of the Happy Land, the Golden City, 
and the Rivers of Pleasure, and they sighed : but then 
those joys were distant, and from the faintness of their 
light, they soon got to think that what was remote 


.173 


RURAL TALES. 


might be uncertain, and while the present good in- 
creased in bulk the distant good receded, diminished, 
disappeared. Their faith failed; they would trust no 
farther than they could see ; they drew back and got 
into the Broad Way, taking a common but sad refuge 
in the number, the fashion, and the gayety of their 
companions. When these faint-hearted people, who 
yet had set out well, turned back, their light was quite 
put out, and then they became worse than those who 
had made no attempt to get in. “ F or it is impossible, 
that is, it is next to impossible, for those who were 
enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and 
the good word of God, and the powers of the world 
to come, if they fall away, to renew them again to re- 
pentance.” 

A few honest humble travellers, not naturally 
stronger than the rest, but strengthened by their trust 
in the king’s word, came up, by the light of their 
lamps, and meekly entered in at the Strait Gate. As 
they advanced farther they felt less heavy, and though 
the way did not in reality grow wider, yet they grew 
reconciled to the narrowness of it, especially when 
they saw the walls here and there studded with certain 
jewels called }womises, such as: “He that enduretli 
to the end shall be saved ;” and “my grace is sufficient 
for you.” Some, when they were almost ready to 
faint, were encouraged by seeing that many niches in 
the Narrow Way were filled with statues and pictures 
of saints and martyrs, who had borne their testimony 
at the stake, that the Narrow Way was the safe way ; 
and these travellers, instead of sinking at the sight 'of 
the painted wheel and gibbet, the sword and furnace, 
were animated with these words written under them, 
“Those that wear white robes, came out of great 
tribulation,” and “be ye followers of those who through 
faith and patience inherit the promises.” 

In the meantime there came a great multitude of 
travellers all from Laodicea; this was the largest party 
I had yet seen; these were neither hot nor cold; they 


THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAT. 177 

would not give up future hope, and they could not 
endure present pain. So they contrived to deceive 
themselves, by fancying that though they resolved to 
keep the Happy Land in view, yet there must needs 
be many different ways which lead to it, no doubt all 
equally sure, without all being equally rough : so they 
set on foot certain little contrivances to attain the end 
without using the means, and softened down the spirit 
of the king’s directions to fit them to their own prac- 
tice. Sometimes they would split a direction in two, 
and only use that half which suited them. For in- 
stance when they met with the following rule on the 
way-post, “ Trust in the lord and be doing good,” 
they would take the first half, and make themselves 
easy with a general sort of trust, that through the 
mercy of the king all would go well with them, though 
they themselves did nothing. And on the other hand, 
many made sure that a few good works of their own 
would do their business, and carry them safety to the 
Happy Land , though they did not trust in the lord, 
nor place any faith in his word. So they took the 
second half of the spliced direction. Thus some per- 
ished by a lazy faith, and others by a working pride. 

I set myself to observe what was the particular let, 
molestation, and hindrance, which obstructed particular 
travellers in their endeavors to enter in at the Strait 
Gate. I remarked a huge portly man who seemed 
desirous of getting in, but he carried about him such 
j vast provision of bags full of gold, and had on so many 
rich garments, which stuffed him out so wide, that 
though he pushed and squeezed, like one who had 
really a mind to get in, yet he could not possibly do 
so. Then I heard a voice crying, “Wo to him who 
loadeth himself with thick clay.” The poor man felt 
something was wrong, and even went so far as to 
change some of his more cumbersome vanities into 
others which seemed less bulky, but still he and his 
pack were much too wide for the gate. He would 
not however give up the matter so easily, but began 


178 


RURAL TALES. 


to throw away a little of the coarser part of his bag- 
gage, but still I remarked that he threw away none 
of the vanities which lay near his heart. He tried 
again, but it would not do ; still his dimensions were 
too large. He now looked up and read these words, 
“How hardly shall those who have riches enter into 
the kingdom ol God.” The poor man sighed to find 
that it was impossible to enjoy his fill of both worlds, 
and “went away sorrowing.” If he ever afterward 
cast a thought toward the Happy Land., it was only 
to regret that the road which led to it was too narrow 
to admit any but the meagre children of want, who 
were not so encumbered by wealth as to be too big 
lor the passage. Had he read on, he would have seen 
that “with God all things are possible.” 

Another advanced with much confidence of suc- 
cess, for having little worldly riches or honors, the 
gate did not seem so strait to him. He got to the 
theshold triumphantly, and seemed to look back with 
disdain on all that he was quitting. He soon found, 
however, that he was so bloated with pride, and stuffed 
out with self-sufficiency, that he could not get in. 
Nay, he was in a worse way than the rich man just 
named \ for he had been willing to throw away some 
of his outward luggage, whereas this man refused to 
part with a grain of that vanity and self-applause which 
made him too large for the way. The sense of his 
own worth so swelled him out that he stuck fast in 
the gateway, and could neither get in nor out. Find- 
ing now that he must cut off all those big thoughts 
ol himself, if he wished to be reduced to such a size 
as to pass the gate, he gave up all thoughts of it. He 
scorned that humility and self-denial which might 
have shrunk him down to the proper dimensions ; the 
more he insisted on his own qualifications for entrance, 
the more impossible it became to enter, for the bigger 
he giew. Finding that he must become quite an- 
other manner of man before he could hope to get in, 
he gave up the desire ; and I now saw that though 


THE STRAIT GATE AND THE BROAD WAT. 179 

he set his face toward the Happy Land he could 
not get an inch forward, yet the instant he made 
a motion to turn back into the world, his speed be- 
came rapid enough, and he got back into the Broad 
Way much sooner than he got out of it. 

Many, who for a time were brought down from their 
usual bulk by some affliction, seemed to get in with 
ease. They now thought all their difficulties over, 
for having been surfeited with the world during their 
late disappointment, they turned their backs upon it 
willingly enough, and fancied they were tired of it. 
A fit of sickness, perhaps, which is very apt to reduce , 
had for a time brought their bodies into subjection, so 
that they were enabled just to get in at the gateway ; 
but as soon as health and spirits returned, the way 
grew narrower and narrower to them ; and they could 
not get on, but turned short, and got back into the 
world. I saw many attempt to enter who were stop- 
ped short by a large burden of worldly cares ; others 
by a load of idolatrous attachments ; but I observed 
that nothing proved a more complete bar than that 
vast bundle of prejudices with which multitudes were 
loaded. — Other were fatally obstructed by loads of 
bad habits which they would not lay down, though 
they knew it prevented their entrance. 

Some few, however, of most descriptions, who had 
kept their light alive by craving constant supplies from 
the king’s treasury, got through at last by a strength 
which they felt not to be their own. One poor man, 
who carried the largest bundle of bad habits 1 had 
seen, could not get on a step ; he never ceased, how- 
ever, to implore for light enough to see where his 
misery lay ; he threw down one of his bundles, then 
another, but all to little purpose ; still he could not 
stir. At last striving as if in agony , which is the 
true way of entering, he threw down the heaviest 
article in his pack ; this was selfishness : the poor fel- 
low felt relieved at once, his light burned brightly, 
and the rest of his pack was as nothing. 


180 


RURAL TALES. 


What grieved me most was to observe that many 
who had got on successfully a good way, now stopped 
to rest and to admire their own progress. While 
they were thus valuing themselves on their attain- 
ments, their light diminished. While these were 
boasting how far they had left others behind who had 
set out much earlier, some slower travellers whose 
beginning had not been so promising, but who had 
walked meekly and circumspectly, now outstripped 
them. These last walked not as though they had 
already attained ; but this one thing they did, forget- 
ting the things which were behind, they pushed for- 
ward to the mark, for the prize of their high calling. 
These, though naturally weak, yet by laying aside 
every weight, finished the race that was before them. 
Those who had kept their “ light burning,” who 
were not “ wise in their own conceit,” who “ laid their 
help on one that is mighty,” who had “chosen to suffer 
affliction rather than to enjoy the pleasure of sin for a 
season,” came at length to the Happy Land. They • 
had indeed the Dark and Shadowy Valley to cross, 
but even there they found a rod and a staff to com- 
fort them. Their light instead of being put out by 
the damps of the Valley and of the Shadow of death, 
often burned with added brightness. Some indeed 
suffered the terrors of a short eclipse ; but even then 
their light, like that of a dark lantern, was not put out ; 
it was only turned for a while from him who carried 
it, and even these often finished their course with joy. 
— But the instant they reached the Happy Land , all 
tears were wiped from their eyes, and the king him- 
self came forth and welcomed them into his presence, 
and put a crown upon their heads, with these words, 

“ Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into 
the joy of thy lord.” 


THE END. 


d O O K d 

IN TIIE VARIOUS DEPARTMENTS 


OF 

a? tt w a n ittt&ijHetr&e, 

PUBLISHED BY 

D. APPLETON & CO., NEW-YORK, 

AND 

GEORGE S. APPLETON, PHILADELPHIA. 


HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION 

OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND. By Gilbert Burnet, 
D.D., late Bishop of Salisbury. With a Collection of Records, 
and a copious Index, revised and corrected, with additional 
Notes and a Preface, by the Rev. E. Nares, D.D. Illustrated 
with a Frontispiece and twenty-three Portraits on steel. Form- 
ing four elegant 8vo. vols. of near 600 pages each. <$>8 00. 

To the student either of civil or religious history no epoch can be of more 
importance than that of the Reformation in England. It signalized the 
overthrow, in one of its strongest holds, of the Roman power, and gave an 
impulse to the human mind, the full results of which are even now but 
partly realized. Almost all freedom of inquiry — all toleration in matters of 
religion, had its birth-hour then ; and without a familiar acquaintance with 
all its principal events, but little progress can be made in understanding 
the nature and ultimate tendency's of the revolution then effected. 

The History of Bishop Burnet is one of the most ceRorated and by far 
the most frequently quoted of any that has been written of this great event. 
Upon the original publication of the first volume, it was received ia 
Great Britain with the loudest and most extravagant encomiums. The 
author received the thanks of both Houses of Parliament, and was request- 
ed by them to continue the work. In continuing it he had the assistance of 
the most learned and eminent divines of his time ; and he confesses his in- 
debtedness for important aid to Lloyd, Tillotson and Stillingfi.ext, 
three of the greatest of England’s Bishops. “ I know,” says he, in his Pre- 
face to the second volume, “ that nothing can more effectually recommend 
this work, than to sav that it passed with tiieir hearty approbation, after 
they had examined it with that care which their great zeal for the cause con 
cemed in it, and their goodness to the author and freedom with him, obliged 

them to use.” , , , ... , ...... 

The present edition of this great work has been edited with laborious 
care by Dr. Nares, who professes to have corrected important errors into 
which the author fell, and to hav-e made such improvements in the order of 
the work as will render it far more useful to the reader or historical student. 
Preliminary explanations, full and sufficient to the clear understanding of 
the author, are given, and marginal references are made throughout the 
book, so as greatly to facilitate and render accurate its consultation. The 
whole is published in four large octavo volumes of six hundred pages in 
each — printed upon heavy papet in large and clear type, ’t contains por- 
traits of twenty-four of the most celebrated characters oft',-' 1 Reformation, 
and is issued in a very neat style. It will of course find a piace in every 
theologian’s library— and will, by no means, we trust, be confined to that 
«;>• Rraftodspher*. 


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THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST; 

Or, Hints respecting the Principles, Constitution, and Oidmances 
of the Catholic Church. By Frederick Denison Maurice, 
M.A. Chaplain of Guy’s Hospital, Professor of English Litera 
ture and History, King’s College, London. In one elegant oe 
tavo volume of GOO pages, uniform in style with Newman’s 
Sermons, Palmer on the Church, &c. $2 50. 

“ Mr. Maurice’s work is eminently fitted to engage the attention and meet the wants of all 
interested in the several movements that are now taking place in the religious community; it 
takes up the pretensions generally of the several Rrutestant denominations and of the Ro- 
manists, so as to commend itself in the growing interest in the controversy between the lat- 
ter and their opponents. The political portion of the work contains much that is attractive 
to a thought! ul man, of any or of no religious persuasion, in reference to the existing and po» 
Bible future state of our country.” 


A MANUAL FOR COMMUNICANTS; 

Or the Order for Administering the Holy Communion; conveniently ar- 
ranged with Meditations and Prayers from Old English Divines, being 
the Eucharistica of Samuel Wilberforce, M.A., Archdeacon of Surry, 
(adapted to the American service.) Convenient size for the pocket 
37 i cents — gilt edges 50 cents. 

“ These meditations, prayeis, and expositions, are given in the very words of the illustri- 
ous divines martyrs, confessors, and doctors of the Church; and they form altogether 
such a body of instructive matter as is nowhere else to be found in the same com- 
pass. I hough collected from various authors, the whole is pervaded by a unity of spirit and 
purpose ; and we most earnestly commend the work as better fitted than any other which 
we know, to subserve the ends of sound edification and fervent and substantial devotion. 
I he American reprint has been edited by a deacon of great promise in the Church, and is ap- 
propriately dedicated to the Bishop of this diocese.”— Churchman. 

OG I LBV ON LAY-BAPTISM: 

An Outline on the Argument against the Validity of Lay-Baptism. By the 
Rev. John D. Ogilby, A.M., Professor of Ecclesiastical History. One 
volume 12mo., 75 cents. 

. “ We have been favoured with a copy of the above work, and lose no time in announcing 
its publication. 1 rom a cursory inspection of it, we take it to be a thorough, fearless, and 
very able discus-ion of the subject which it proposes, aiming less to excite inquiry, than to 
satisfy, by learned and ingenious argument, inquiries already excited.” — Churchman. 


THE PRIMITIVE DOCTRINE 
ELECTION: 


O F 


Or, an Historical In piiry into the Ideality and Causation of Scriptural 
Election, as received and maintained in the Primitive C'nurcn ol Christ. 
By Geoige Stanley Faber, B.D., author of “Difficulties of Romanism, ** 
“Difficulties of Infidelity,” &c. Complete in one volume octavo. $1 75. 

“ Mr. I aber verifies his opinion by demonstravion. We cannot pay a higher respect to his 
txew than by recommending it to all Church of England Quarterly Review. 


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CHURCHMAN’S LIBRARY. 

The volumes of this series ere of a standard character and highly recom- 
mended by the Bishops and Clergy of the Protestant Episcopal Church. 

THE PRACTICAL CHRISTIAN; 

Or, Devout Penitent. By R. Sherlocke, D.D., with a Life of the Author, r>j 
the Right Rev. Bishop Wilson. One elegant volume. 16mo. 75 cents. 

THE CHURCHMAN'S COMPANION IN THE CLOSET; 

Or, a Complete Manual of Privrte Devotions Collected from the writings of 
Archbishop Laud, Bishop An*, wes. B.snop Ken, Dr. Hickes, Mr. Kettle- 
well, Mr. Spinckes, and other eminent old Engl.sh Divines. With a Pre- 
face by Rev. Mr. Spinckes. Edited by Francis E. Paget. M. A. One ele 
gant volume, 16mo. $1 00. 

OF THE IMITATION OF CHRIST. 

Four books, by Thomas A Kempis, a new and complete edition, elegantly 
printed. 1 vol. Itiuo. $1 00. 

THE EARLY ENGLISH CHURCH; 

Or, Christian ITstoiy of England in early British, Saxon, and Norman Times 
By the Rev. Edward Churton, M A. With a Preface by the Right Rev. 
Bishop Ives. 1 voi. 16mo., elegantly ornamented, $1 00 

LEARN TO DIE.. 

Disce Mori, Learn to Die : a Religious Discourse, moving every Christian 
man to enter into a serious Remembrance of his End. By Christopher Sut 
ton, D.D., late Prebend of Westminster. 1 vol. 16mo. f elegantly orna- 
mented. $1 00. 

SACRA PRI VATA : 

The Private Meditations, Devotions, and Prayers of the Right Rev. T. Wil- 
son, D.D., Lord Bishop of Soder and Man. First complete edition. 1 vol. 
royal lGmo., elegantly ornamented. $1 00 

MEDITATIONS ON TH E S ACR AM ENT. 

Gorily Meditations upon the most Holy Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper. Bj 
Christopher Sutton, D.D., late Prebend of Westminster. 1 vol.,royal 16mo. 
elegantly ornamented. $1 00. 

A DISCOURSE CONCERNING PRAYER 

And the frequenting Daily Public Prayer. By Symon Patrick, D.D., sometiim 
Lord Bishop of Ely. Edited by Francis E. Page*, M.A., Chaplain to thi 
Lord Bishop ol Oxford. 1 vol. royal 16mo., elegantly ornamented. 75 C6 k£c 

THOUGHTS IN PAST YEARS. 

A beautiful collection of Poetry, chiefly Devotional. By the author of “Thi 

Cathedral.” 1 vol. royal 16mo., elegantly printed. $1 25. 

THE CHRISTMAS BELLS: 

A Tale of Holy Tide, and other Poems. By the author of “ Constance, 
“Virginia,” &o, 1 vol. ro_yal 16ino.. elegantly ornamented. 75 cento. 




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CHURCHMAN’S LIBRARY.— Continued. 

THE UNITY OF THE CHURCH. 

By the Rev. Henry Edward Manning, M. A., Archdeacon of Chichester 
Complete in one elegant volume, 16mo. Price $1 00. 

This work is considered by several of the Bishops and Clergy of England 
and this country, to be the most able treatise on the subject. 

TALES OF THE VILLAGE; 

In which the Principles of the Romanist, Churchman, Dissenter, and Infidel, 
are contrasted. By the Rev. Francis E. Paget, M. A. In three elegant 
vols. 18mo. $1 75. 

LEARN TO LIVE. 

Disco Vivere — Learn to Live. Wherein is shown that the Life of Christ is 
and ought to be an express pattern for imitation unto the life of a Chris- 
tian. By Christopher Sutton, D. D. One elegant vol. 16mo. Price#] OCX. 

THE DOUBLE WITNESS OF THE CHURCH. 

By the Rev. W m. Ingraham Kip, author of “ Lenten Fast.’’ One elegant 
volume, 16mo., of 415 pages. Price $1 25. 

THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. 

By the Rev. R. W. Evans. From the Twelfth English edition. One ele 
gantly printed volume. 75 cents. 

“We believe no person could read this work and not be the better fitr it* 
pious and tonching+essons.” — London Lit. Gazette. 

PORTRAIT OF A CHURCHMAN. 

By the Rev. W. Gresley, A. M. From the Seventh English edition. One 
elegant volume, 16mo. 75 cents. 

“ The main part of this admirable volume is occupied upon the illustra- 
tration of the practical working' of Church ■principles when sincerely received, 
setting forth their value in the commerce of daily life, and how surely they 
conduct those who embrace them in the safe and quiet path of holy life.” 

LYRA APOSTOLIC A. _ 

From the Fifth English edition. One elegantly printed volume. 75 cents. 

This volume contains some of the choicest verses by the most eminent 
Divines of the present century. 

BISIIOP JEREMY TAYLOR ON EPISCOPACY. 

The Sacred Order and Offices of Episcopacy Asserted and Maintained: te 
which is added, Clerus Domirji, a Discourse on the Office Ministerial 
By the Right Rev. Jeremy Taylor, D.D. One elegant volume, lGmo 
Prrce $1 00. 

The reprint in a portable form of this eminent Divine’s unanswerable 
.J6fence oi Episcopacy, cannot fail of being welcomed by every churchman 

THE GOLDEN GROVE. 

A choice Manual, containing what is to be believed, practised, and desired, 
or prayed for ; the prayers being fitted for the several days of the week.- 
U .0 which is added, a Guide for the Penitent, or a Model drawn up for the 
help oi devout souls wounded with sin. Also, Festival Hymns, &c. Bf 
the Right Rev. Bishop Jeremy Taylor, D. D. One volume, lfirno. SO 50 


6 D. Appleton $ Co Catalogue of Valuable WorJcs. 


SCRIPTURE AND GEOLOGY. 

On the Relation between the Holy Scriptures and some parts of Geological 
Science. By John F i’e Smith, D.L)., author of the “ Scripture Testimony 
of the Messiah,” &c. &c. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 25. 

“The volume consists of eight lectures, to which are appended seventy 
pages of supplementary notes. The first lecture is introductory ; the second 
u scientifically descriptive of the principal topics of geological science ; the 
third includes a research nto the creation of our globe ; the fourth and fifth 
lectures comprise an exai lination of the deluge ; the sixth discusses the appa- 
rent dissonance between the decisions of geologists, and the hitherto re- 
ceived interpretation of Scripture, with an additional exposition of the diluvial 
heory ; the seventh is devoted to illustration of the method to interpret the 
6criptures, so that they may harmonize with the discoveries of geology ; the 
eighth is the peroration of the whole disquisition. 


WORKS BY THE REV. DR. SPRAGUE. 


TRUE AND FALSE RELIGION. 

Lectures illustriting the Contrast between True Christianity and variou# 
(ther systeiu. By William B. Sprague, D.D 1 vol. 12mo. $1 00. 

LECTURES ON REVIVALS IN RELIGION. 

By W. B. Sprague, D.D. With an Introductory Essay by Leonard 
Woods, D.D. 1vol. 12mo. 871 cents. 

LETTERS TO A DAUGHTER 


te r* * 'cal Subjects. By W. B. Sprague, D.D. Fourth edition, revised 
and enlarged. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cents. 

LECTURES TO YOUNG PEOPLE. 


By W. B. Sprague, D.D. With an Introductory Address. By Samuel 
Miller, D.D. Fourth edition. 1 vol. 12ino. 87i cents. 

The writings of Dr. Sprague are too well known, and too highly estimated 
by the Christian community generally, to require any other encomium than 
is furnished by their own merits ; for this reason it is thought unnecessary to 
subjoin the favourable testimonies borne to their utility and excellence by the 
whole circle of the periodical press of this country, and the fact, that they 
have each passed through several editions in England, sufficiently attests the 
estimation in which they are held abroad. 

SPIRITUAL CHRISTIANITY. 


Lectures on Spiritual Christianity. By Isaac Taylor, author of “ Spiritual 
Despotism,” &c. <fcc. 1 vol 12mo. 75 cents. 

“This work is the production of one of tne most gifted and accomplished 
minds of the present age. If some of his former productions may have been 
thought characterized by too much metaphysical abstraction, and in some in- 
stances, by speculations of doubtful importance the present volume is, wn 
think, in no degree liable to this objection. It is indeed distinguished for deep 
thought and accurate discrimination: and whoever would read it to advantage 
must task his faculties in a much higher degree, than in reading ordinary 
books: and yet it contains nothing which an ordinary degree of intelligent* 
and application may not readily comprehend. The view which it gives of 
Christianity, both as a system of truth and a system of duty, is in the higheel 
degree instructive ; and its tendencies are not less to quicken the intellectual 
faculties, than to direct and elevate the moral sensibilities. We have no doubt 
that it will be read with great interest by those who read to find materials 
for thought, and that it is destined to exert a most important influence, espe- 
cially on the *n«re intellectual classes in the advancement of the interests of 


^U-rSTJT 




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Works by Rev. Robert Philip. 

* ■ ~ - 


YOUNG MAN’S CLOSET LIBRARY. 

By Robert Philip. With an Introductory Essay by Rev. Albert Barnes. 1 voL 

12mo. $1 00. 


LOVE OF THE SPIRIT, Traced in his Work : a Companion to the £*» 
perimental Guides. By Robert Philip. 1 vol. I81110. 50 cts. 

DEVOTIONAL AND EXPERIMENTAL GUIDES. By Robert Philip.- 
With an Introductory Essay by Rev. Albert Barnes. 2 vols. 12mo. $1 75. 
Containing : 


Guide to the Perplexed 
Do. do. Devotional 
Do. do. Thoughtful. 


Guide to the Doubting. 

Do. do. Conscientious. 
Do. do. Redemption. 


LADY’S. CLOSET LIBRARY. 

as follows; m 

THE MARYS; or Beauty of Female '■ ’mess. By Robert Philip. I vol 
18mo. 50 cents. 

THE MARTHAS; or Varieties of Fen. u. !’iety. By Robert Philip. 1 vol 
18mo. 50 cts. 


THE LYDIAS; or Development of Fewaje Character. By Robert Philip 
1 vol. 18mo. 50 cts. 

The Maternal Series of the above popular Library is now ready, entitled, 

THE HANNAHS i or Maternal Influence of Sons. By Robert Philip 
1 vol. 18mo. 50 cts, 

“The author of this work is known to the public as one of the most prolific writers of the 
day, and scarcely any writer in the department which he occupies, has acquired so exten- 
sive and well-merited a popularity. The present volume, as its title denotes, is devoted to 
an illustration of the influence of mothers on their sons ; and the subject is treated with the 
same originality and beauty which characterize the author’s other works. It will be found 
to be a most delightful and useful companion in the nursery, and its influence can hardly 
fail to be felt; first, in quickening the sense of responsibility on the part of mothers; and 
next, in forming the character of the rising generation to a higher standard of intelligence 
and virtue.” — Evangelist. 


GEMS FROM TRAVELLERS. 

Illustrative of various passages in the Holy Scripture, with nearly one hundied 
Engravings. Among the authorities quoted will he found the following dis- 
tinguished names; Ilarmer, Laborde, Lane, Madden, Clarke, Pocoeke, 
Chandler, M a) com, Hartley, Russel, Jowitt, Carne, Shaw, Morier, Neibuhr, 
Bruce, Calmet, H. Blunt, Belzoni, Lord Lindsay, <S'.c. &c. 1 vol 12mo 
$1 00 . 

“ The Holy Scriptures contain many passages full of importance and beauty, but not ge- 
nerally understood, because they contain allusion to manners and customs, familiar indeed 
to those to whom they were originally addressed, but imperfectly known to us. In order to 
obviate this difficulty, this volume is now presented to the public, consisting of extracts from 
the narratives of travellers who have recorded the customs of the oriental nations, from 
whom we learn that some usages were retained among them to tins day, such as existed at 
the times when the Scriptures were written, and that these names aie in many instances 
little changed since the patriarchal times. The compiler of this volume trusts that it may b* 
the means, under God’s providence, of leading unlearned readers to a more general ao 
quaintance with Eastern customs, and assist them to a clearer perception of the propriety 
smd beauty ai the illustrations 60 often drawn from them in tire Bib e. 


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GENERAL HISTORY OF CIVIL!ZATIO> 

n Europe, from the fall of ttm Roman Empire, to the French Revolution 
By M. Guizot, Professor or History to the Faculty des Lettres of Paris 
Printed from the second English edition, with Occasional Notes, by C. S 
Henry, D.D., of New- York. One handsome volume, 12mo. $1 00. 

The third edition of this valuable work has just appeared, with numer- 
ous and useful notes, by Professor Henry, of the University of New-York. 
M. Guizot, in his inst ructive lectures has given an epitome of Modern His 
tory, distinguished by all the merits which in another department, fenders 
Blackstone a subject of such peculiar and unbounded praise ; a work close 
ly condensed, including no .hing useless and omitting nothing essential • 
written with grace, and conceived and arranged with consummate ability. 

THE NATURAL HISTORY OF SOCIETY 

IN THE BARBAROUS AND CIVILIZED STATE. 

An Essay towards Discovering the Origin and Course of Human Improve 
ment. By W. Cooke Taylor, LL.D., &c., of Trinity College, Dublin 
Handsomely printed on fine paper. 2vols. 12mo $2 25. 

“ The design of this work is to determine, from an examination of the 
various forms in which society has been found, what was the origin of 
civilization ; and under what circumstances those attributes of humanity 
which in one country become the foundation of social happiness, are in an- 
other perverted to the production of general misery.’ 

CARLYLE ON HISTORY 86 HEROES. 

On Heroes, Ilero-Worship, and the Heroic in History. Six Lectures, re 
ported with Emendations and Additions, by Thomas Carlyle, author of 
the French Revolution, Sartor Resartus, &c. Elegantly printed in 1 
vol. 12mo. Second edition. $1 00. 

“ And here we must close a work — such as we have seldom seen the 
like of, and one which redeems the literature of our superficial and manu 
facturing period. It is one to purify our nature, expand our ideas, and ex- 
alt our souls. Let no library or book-room be without it ; the more it is 
studied the more it will be esteemed .”— Literary Gazette. 


SOUTHEY'S POETICAL WORKS. 

The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey, Esq., LL.D. The ten 
volume London edition in one elegant royal 8vo. volume, with a fine por 
trait and vignette. $3 50. 

*.* This edition, which the author has arranged and revised with the 
iame care as if it were intended for posthumous publication, includes many 
pieces which either have never before been collected, or have hitherto re 
mained unpublished. 

SCHLEGEL’S PHILOSOPHY OF 
HISTORY. 

The Philosophy of History, in a course of Lectures delivered at Vienna, by 
Frederick von Schlegel, translated from the German, with a Memoir of 
the Author, by J. B Robertson. Handsomely printed on fine paper. 2 
yols. 12mo. $2 50. 


THE LI FE OF ALEXANDER HAMILTON. 

Edited by his son, John C. Hamilton. 2 vols. 8vo. $5 00. 

•< We cordially recommend the perusal and diligent study of these vol- 
umes, exhibiting, as they do, much valuable matter relative to the Revo- 
ution, the et*',ab ishment of the Federal Constitution, and other important 
events anr, ils of our country .’’ —.Yew- licvicw. 

KWWWTO’ 1 ;' 


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THE NEW PURCHASE; 

Or, Seven and a Half Years in the Far West. By Robert Carlton, Escj. 

Alter et Idem. 

Two handsome volumes 12mo. $1 50. 

* * This work is characterized by much original humour and information. 

A GALLOP AMONG AMERICAN SCENERY. 

By Augustus E. Silliman. Oue elegantly printed volume. 16mo. 75 cent*. 

THE AMERICAN IN EGYPT. 

With Rambles thro ugh Arabia-Petraea and the Holy Land, during the 

years 1839-40 

By James Ewing Cooley. Illustrated witn numerous Steel Engravings, 
also Etchings and Designs by Johnston. One handsome volume, octavo, of 
610 pages. $2 00. Cheap edition, paper covers, $1 09 

“ No other volume exiant can give the reader so true a picture of what he would be likely 
to eee and ineel in Kg\ pi. No oilier book is more practical and plain in its picture of precisely 
what the traveller himself will meet. Other writers have one account to give of theirjour- 
cey on paper, and another to relate in couversa' 10 •«. Mr. Cooley has but one story for the 
fireside circle and the p rimed page. ” — Brother '■>•< . . ■ t him. 

THE FLAG :IIP ; 

OR A VOYAGE ROUi\ L HIE WORLD, 

In the United States Frigate Columbia, atr led by her consort, the Sloop of 
War John Adams, and bearing the broad pennant of Commodore George C. 
Read. By Fitch W. Taylor, Chaplain to the Squadron. 2 vols. 12mo. 
plates. $2 50. 

TOUR TllRflCGn TURKEY AND PERSIA. 

Narrative of a Tour through Armenia, Kurdistan, Persia and Mesopotamia, 
with an introduction and Occasional Observations upon the Condition of 
Mohammedanism and Christianity in those countries. By the Rev. Horatio 
Southgate, Missionary of the American Episcopal Church. 2 vols. 12mo. 
plates. $2 00. 

SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTCH; 

OR THE WESTERN CIRCUIT. 

By Catharine Sinclair, Author of Modern Accomplishments, Modern Society, 
&c. &c. 1 vol. 12mo. $0 75. 

SHETLAND AND THE SHETLANDERS ; 

OR TITE NORTHERN CIRCUIT. 

By Catharine Sinclair, Author of Scotland and the Scotch, Holiday Houm 
&c. &c. 1 vol. 12mo. $0 871. • 

nANDY AND Y. — a tale of irtsh life. 

By Samuel Lover, author of “ Rory O’More,” •• The Gridiron,” &c. Illustrated 
with twenty-t wo characteristic illustrations from designs by t he Author. One 
handsome volume, cloth gilt. $1 25. The same in boards, $1 00. The 
tame with only two plates, in paper covers, 50 cents. 

WITH TWENTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS BY DICK KITCAT, 

TIIE FORTUNES OF HECTOR O’HALLORAN, 

AND HIS MAN MARK ANTONY O’TOOLE. 

By W. II. MAXWELL, Esq. 

g^^^legan^ohtnieMdotl^iU^Jil^S^ujJ^oards^l 00 — in paper c/jvere wftb 


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A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, MANUFACTURES AND MINES, 

Containing a clear exposition of their Pnn-. pies ar.d p -ar.tice. By Andrew 
Ure, M.D., F.R.S., &c. &c. Illustrated with One Thousand Two Hundred 
and Forty-one Engravings on wood. Containing upwards of 1300 closely 
printed pages, f orm ing one very thick volume 8vo , strongly bound in 
sheep. $5 00. dT* The same work bound in two volumes. $5 50. 

In every point of view a work like the present can but be regarded as a benefit done to theo- 
retical and piactica! science, to commerce and industrv_ ai,u an important addition to a epe 
e»es of literature the exclusive production of the present century, and the present state of 
peace and civilization. Criticisms in favour of its intrinsic value ‘.o all classes of the commu- 
nity might be produced, if space would permit, from upwards of three hundred of the leading 
journals in Europe ai.a tins country. 

“This useful and most excellent work, which has been issuing in Monthly Numbers, foi 
some time past, is now completed. It is a publication of most decided and permanent value, 
one of which no library should be destitute. It is tilled with information upon precisely those 
subjects with winch every one should be familiar, upon the practical operations of the arts, 
the scientific principles and processesc ,, iclianics, and the history of all improvements in 
every department of Science and Industry. The author is a man of eminence and ability, and 
the work enjoys the highest reputation in England, where it was first published. We trust 
it will be welcomed by the intelligent of every class of our citizens. It is neatly printed, aiui 
illustrated with upwards of twelve Hundred engraTings.” — N. Y. Tribune. 

HYDRAULICS AND MECHANICS. 

A Descriptive arid Historical Account of Hydraulic and other Machines foi 
Raising Water, including the Steam and hire Engines, ancient and mod- 
ern ; with Observations on various subjects connected with the Mechanic 
Arts ; including the Progressive Development of the Steam-Engine 
Descriptions of every variety of Bellows, Piston, and Rotary Pumps 
Fire Engines, Water Rams, Pressure Engines, Air Machines, Eolipiles 
<fcc. Remarks on Ancient Weils, Air Beds, Cog Wneels, Blowpipes. 
Bellows of various People, Magic Goblets, Steam Idols, and other Ma- 
chinery of Ancient Temples. To which are addea Experiments on Blow- 
ing and SDouting Tubes, and other original Devices, Nature’s modes and 
Machinery for Raising Water. Historical notices respecting Siphons, 
Fountains, Water Organs, Clopsydrse, Pipes, Valves, Cocks, &c. In five 
books. Illustrated by nearly Three Hundred Engravings. By Thomas 
Ewbank. One handsomely printed volume of six hundred pages. $3 50. 

HODGE ON THE STEAM-ENGINE. 

The Steam-Engine, its Origin and Gradual Improvement, from the time of 
Hero to the present day, as adapted to Manufactures, Locomotion and 
Navigation. Illustrated with Forty-eight Plates in full detail, numerous 
Wood Cuts. &c. By Paul R. Hodge, C.E. 1 vol. folio of plates, and 
letter-press in 8vo, $10 00. 

LAFEVER'S MODERN ARCHITECTURE. 

Beauties of Modern Architecture: coasting of Forty-eight Plates of Ori- 
ginal Designs, with Plans, Elevati .is and Sections, also a Dictionary 
of Technical Terms ; the whole forming a complete Manual for the Prac 
tical Builder. By M. Lafever, Architect. 1 vol. large 8vo half bound 
$6 00 . 

LAFEVER'S STAIR-CASE AND HAND-RAIL 
CONSTRUCTION. 

The Modem Practice of Stair-case and Hand-rail Construction, practically 
explained, in a series of Designs. By M. Lafevei. Architect. With 
Plans and Elevations for Ornamental Villas. Fifteen Plates. 1 voi. 
large 8vo. $3 00, 

The works of Lafever are pronounced by practical men to be the most useful ever piO- 
Belied. 

THE PRINCIPLES OF DIAGNOSIS. 

By Marshall Hall, h. H. F.R S., &c. Second Edition, with many Improve- 
ments. By Dr. John A. Sweet. 1 vol. 8vo. $2 00 


D. Appleton Co.'s Catalogue of Valuable Worlca. 


HISTORY OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

Translated from the French of M. Laurent De L’Ardcchc, Mem- 
ber of the Institute of France. Illustrated with Five Hundred 
Spirited Plates , after designs by Horace Vernet, and twenty 
Original Portraits of the most distinguished Generals of France, 
2 vols. 8vo. $4 00. 

All the leading journals have spoken in the most unqualified 
praise of this work. The following is from the Poston Traveller : 

“A« a chaste, condensed, faithful, and accurate memoir of the Oreat Captain, it Is worthy ot 
much attention. The author has mainly drawn the necessary facta of his history from the letters, 
speeches, manifestoes, bulletins, and other state papers of Napoleon, and has given a considerable 
Dumber of these m his text. 

“The work is superior to the long verbose productions of Scott and Bcmrrienne — not Id style 
alone, but in truth — t-eing written to please neither Charles X nor the Knglish aristocracy — U& 
for the cause ot treedom. It has advantages ever every other memoir extaut.” 

THE BOOK OF THE NAVY; 

Comprising a General History of the American Marine, and parti 
cular Accounts of all the most Celebrated Naval Pal tics, from the 
Declaration of Independence to the present time, compiled from 
the best authorities. By John Frost, Professor of Belies Lcttres 
in the II ijjh School of Philadelphia. With an Appendix, con- 
taining Naval Songs, Anecdotes, &c. Embellished with nume- 
rous original Engravings and Portraits of distinguished Naval 
Commanders. Complete in one handsome volume, 8vo. $1 00. 

“This elegant volume Is dedicated to the present Secretary of the Navy, and is altogether a very 
faithful and historical record. It comprises twenty two chapters, detailing the prominent event* 
connected with the naval history of the American federal reput. lie. To die narrative is subjoined 
an appendix of seventy pages, including thirty two very interesting characteristic anecdotes, nine- 
leen lyrical poems, and a minute chronological table of events in American Naval History. It b 
appropriately adorned with steel engraved portraits, numerous vignettes, and full page representa- 
tions of various conflicts. The Book of the Navy deserves, and will doubtless have, a very extend- 
ed circulation.” — National Intelligencer. 

INCIDENTS OF A WHALING VOYAGE. 

To which is added Observations on the Scenery, Manners, and 
Customs, and Missionary Stations of the Sandwich and Society 
Islands, accompanied by numerous plates. By Francis Allyn 
Olmsted. One handsome volume, 12mo. $1 50. 

PICTORIAL VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. 

The Vicar of Wakefield. Py Oliver Goldsmith. Elegantly illus- 
trated with nearly 200 Engravings, making a beautiful volume, 
octavo, of about 350 pages. $1 25. 

“We love to turn back over these rich old classics of our own language, and rejtivinate ourselves 
t>7 the never-fading associations which a re-perusal always calls up. Let any one who has not 
read this immortal tale for lilteen or twenty years, try the experiment, and we will warrant, that h* 
rise* op from the task — the pleasure we should have slid — a happier and a belter man.” —Sav. Rep. 

PICTORIAL ROBINSON CRUSOE. 

The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. By Daniel De 
Foe. With a Memoir of the Author, and an Essay on his 
Writings, illustrated with nearly 500 spirited Engravings, by 
the celebrated French artist, Grand vilie, forming one elegant 
volume, octavo, of 500 pages. $1 75. 

“ Wa» there ever anything written by mere man that the reader wished longer, except Robloaoa 
Grille, Don Uuixoite, and die Pilgrim's Progress 1” — Lh-. Johnson. 

“ h.'tctiv dial this the nine' moral of rosnancea, ts not only die most charming of book* bwt 
the most roAri’cnve. —a. unacner*. 


14 D. Appleton $ Co.’s Catalogue of Valuable Works. 


MINIATURE CLASSICAL LIBRARY. 

This unique Library will comprise the best works of the best 
authors in prose and poetry ; published in an elegant form, 
with a beautiful frontispiece, tastefully ornamented. The 
following are now ready : 

GOLDSMITH.— Essays on Various Subjects. By Oliver Gold- 
smith. 37! cents. 

GOLDSMITH .—The Vicar of Wakefield. By Oliver Golafndth. 
371 cents. 

JO H NSO N .— The History of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia. 
A Tale. By Samuel Johnson, LL.D. 371 cents. 

COTTI N .—Elizabeth, or, the Exiles of Siberia. By Madame 
Cotfcin. The extensive popularity of this little Tale is well known. 31 i cts. 

TOKEN OF REMEMBRANCE. 

TOKEN OF AFFECTION. 

TOKEN OF FRIENDSHIP. 

TOKEN OF THE HEART. 

Each volume consists of appropriate Poetical extracts from the principal 
writers of the day. 31 i each. 

PURE GOLD FROM THE RIVERS OF WISDOM. A collection 

of short extracts on religious subjects from the older writers, Bishop Hall, 
Sherlock, Barrow, Paley, Jeremy Taylor, &c. 311 c°nts. 

ST. PI E R R E.— Paul and Virginia. From the French of J. B. H 
St. Pierre. 31± cents. 

H. MORE’S Private Devotions. Complete. 311 cents. 

THE SEASONS — By James Thomson. 37! cents. 

GEMS FROM AMERICAN PO ETS.— 37! cents. 

CLARKE’S Scripture Promises. Complete. 37! cents. 

'•"*** These volumes will be followed by others of attested merit. 

‘Q’frG [£ ©A ID <§>£3 7 [I HQ ®i? 3 Their Position in 

Society, Character, and Responsibilities. By Mrs. Ellis, author of “ The 
Women of England.” Complete in one handsome volume, 12mo. 50 cts 

TMH ©F a Their relative Duties, Do 

mestic Influences and Social Obligations. By Mrs. Ellis, author of 
“ The Women of England,” “The Daughters of England.” In one 
handsome volume, 12mo. 50 cents. 

ffKJH ^©K0[lf3 ®[? GUKK^ILAGnI® 9 Their Social Duties and 
Domestic Habits. By Mrs. Ellis. One handsome volume, 12mo. 50 cts. 

^©©©/^^[[©Kla By Isaac Taylor, author of “Natural 
History of Enthusiasm,” &c. &c. Second edition. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 00. 

“ In this volume the general principles of Education, as applicable to private families and 
to small schools, are stated and explained ; such methods of treatment, especially, being sug- 
gested as are best suited to the circumstances of a country residence; at the same time, hints 
are offered of a kind to be available under any circumetances for carrying on the culture of 
those of the intellectual faculties that are the earliest developed, and on the due expansion of 
which the force and efficiency of the mature mind depend.” 

4 ‘ A very enlightened, just, and Christian view of a most important subject ” — Amcrioan 
Biblical Repository. - 

k?©:p®n@b@d[LD , b , v b 

By Francis Way land, D.D. Second edition, 1 vol. 18mo. 

PKJV©!J©&[L ™§©[3V A GO© IP MSB ILOFUo 

Isaac Taylor, author of Natural History of Enthusiasm.” Third edition. 

1 vol. 12mo. 87! cents. 

wne of the most learned and extraordinary works of modern times.” 


l). Appleton <f- Co.* s Catalogue oj Valuable Work*. 


A LIBRARY FOR MY YOUNG COUNTRYMEN. 

* V« Library is confided to the editorial care of one of the most successful 
» iters of the day, and commends itself as presenting to tne readers of thi* 
•Ountry a collection of books, chiefly confined to American sub ects of his- 
torical interest. 

The following volumes are now ready , price 3/ i cents each. 

THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF IIENRY HUDSON. By the author 
of “ Uncle Philip,” “ Virginia,” &c. 

ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH; Founder of Virginia. By 
the author of “Henry Hudson,” &c. 

DAWN1NGS OP GENIUS. By Anne Pratt, author of “Flowers and their 
Associations,” &C. 

LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF HERMAN CORTES. By the author of 
the “ A ventures of Captain John Smith,” &c. 

THE ADVENTURES OF DANIEL BOONE, the Kentucky Rifleman. By 
the author of “ Henry Hudson,” &c. 

JET* Several other volumes are in immediate preparation. 

EVENINGS WITH THE CHRONICLERS ; 

Or Uncle Rupert’s Tales of Chivalry. By R. M. Evans. With many Illus- 
trations. 1 vol. lGmo., elegantly bound. $0 75. 


“ Thi« would have been a volume after our own hearts, while we were younger, and it is sear cal, 

lusto now wlieu we are somewhat older.” — Cour. Sf Enq. 

THE HISTORY OF JOAN OF ARC. 

By R. M. Evans, author of “ Evenings with the Chroniclers,” with twenty 
four elegant Illustrations. 1 vol. lfimo. Extra gilt. $0 75. ' 

“ The Incident upon which this work is founded, is one of the most interesting and remarkable 

that history lias preserved to us.” — Albany Advertiser. 

SPRING, SUMER, AUTUMN, AND WINTER. 

The Juvenile Naturalist ; or Walks in the Country. By the Rev. B. II. Draper. 
A beautiful volume, with nearly, fifty plates. 2 vols. square, handsomely 
bound. $0 50 each. 

THE YOUNG ISLANDERS. 

A Tale of the Last Century By Jeffreys Taylor. 1vol. lfimo., beautifully 
illustrated. 75 cents. .This fascinating and elegantly illustrated volume 
for the young, is pronounced to be equal, if not superior to De Foe’s irninor 
tal work, “ Robinson Crusoe.” 

KEIGHTLEY’S MYTHOLOGY FOR SCHOOLS. 

The Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, designed for tlie use of School*. 
By Thomas Keightley. Numerous wood-cut Illustrations. 1 vol. ISmo. 
half bound. 44 cents. 

HAZEN’S SYMBOLICAL SPELLING BOOR. 

The Symoolical Spelling-Book, in two parts. By Edvv. Ilazen. Containing 
188 engravings. 181 cents. This work is used in upwards of 1000 different 
Schools, and pronounced to be one of the best works published. 

THE BOY’S MANUAL. 

Comprising a Summary View of the Studies, Accomplishments, and Principle* 
of Conduct, best suited for promising Respectability and Success in Life 
^Uegantly engraved frontispiece. 1 vol. 18mo. 50 cents. 

THE GIRL’S MANUAL. 

Comprising a Summary View of Female Studies, Accomplishments, and Pri» 
ciples of Conduct. Beautiful frontispiece. 1 vol. I81110 50 cents. 


THE OLD OAR TREE. 


A most interesting little volume of practical 


structum for youth ; illustrated 


D. Jfvpleton Co.'s Catalogue of Valuable Publications. 


THE YOUNG STUDENT; 

Or, Rulph and Victor. By Madame Guizot. From the French, by Samuel 
Jackson. One elegant volume of 500 pages, with illustrations. Price 75 
cents. 

“This volume of biographical incidents is a striking picture of juvenile 
life. To all that numberless class of youth who are passing through their 
literary education, whether in boarding-schools or academies, in the colle- 
giate course, or the preparatory studies connected with them, Ave know 
nothing more precisely fitted to meliorate their. character, and direct their 
course, subordinate to the higher authority of Christian ethics, than this 
excellent delineation of ‘ The Young Student,’ by Madame Guizot. It is a 
perfect reflecting mirror, in which the whole race may behold the resolution, 
the impetuosity, and the disobedient tendencies of their own hearts, as ex- 
emplified in the history of Ralph ; and the moral daring, dignity, and triumph, 
exhibited by Victor. But it is not tne son alone who is taught by Madame 
Guizot — every father, also, w ho has children still under the age of manhood, 
end oven ‘grandpas,’ can derive rich edification from the example of Ralph’s 
fother and Victor’s guardianship. The French Academy were correct in 
their judgment when they pronounced Madame Guizot’s Student the best 
kook of the year.” — JY. Y. Courier <$" Enquirer. ’ " 

THE CHILD’S OWN STORY BOOK; 

Or, Tales and Dialogues for the Nursery. By Mrs. Jerram, (late Jane 
Elizabeth Holmes.) Illustrated with numerous Engravings. Elegantly 
bound, with gold stamp on side. Price 50 cents 

Author’s Preface. —In writing the following pages, my most earnest 
desire has been to awaken in the hearts of little children, kindly and affec- 
tiouate feelings towards each other, submission and loving confidence to- 
wards their parents, and reverence and love towards God. This I have 
attempted in describing scenes and objects most of which must be familiar 
to every child. The language I have used is the easiest I could command, 
*o that a child of three years old may understand it. 

VERY LITTLE TALES, 

For very Little Children. In single syllables of three and four letters. 
From the sixth London edition ; illustrated with numerous engravings. 
Elegantly bound in cloth. Price 37 1-2 cents. 

The type of this little volume is quite a curiosity, it is so large. 

“The suitableness of this little work to its object, is proved by the fact 
that the first edition went off* within three weeks from the day of its publica- 
tion. and that a fouith was required in a few months. It is designed for 
children who have just acquired the knowledge of their alphabet ; a period 
in juvenile education which has been hitherto left without any provision of 
the kind ” — Extract from Preface. 

LUCY AND ARTHUR; 

A Book for Children. Illustrated with numerous engravings, elegantly 
bound in cloth. Price 50 cents. 

Contents. — I. The Nursery. II. Tiie Little Black Pony. III. The 
Little Gardens. IV. The Day’s Work. V. The Walk. VI. Mamma’s 
Stories. VII. Papa’3 Stories. VIII. Sunday. 

“ This is a book in advance of the “ Very Little Tams, ” and intended for 
•fder lads and misses, to whom it will doubtless prove an acceptable gift.” 


APPLETON’S 

FALES FOR THE PEOPLE 

AND THEIR CHILDREN. 


The greatest care lias oeen taken in selecting the works of 
which the collection is composed, so that nothing either 
mediocre in talent, or immoral in tendency, is admitted. 
Each volume is printed on the finest paper, is illustrated 
with an elegant frontispiece, and is bound in a superior 
manner, tastefully ornamented. 

The following are comprised in the series, uniform in size and style: — 
THE POPLAR GROVE ; or, Little Harry and his Uncle Benjamin 
By Mrs. Copley. 37 1-2 cents. 

EARLY FRIENDSHIPS. By Mrs. Copley. 37 i-2 cents. 

THE CROFTON BOYS. By Harriet Martineau. 37 1-2 cents. 

THE PEASANT AND THE PRINCE. By Harriet Martineau. 37 1-2 eta 
NORWAY AND THE NORWEGIANS ; or, Feats on the Fiord. By 
Harriet Martineau. 37! cents. 

MASTERMAN READY ; or, the Wreck of the Pacific. Written for 
Young People. By Captain Marryatt. Three volumes ; each 37! cents. 
THE LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND ; or, Intellectual Mirror. 

An elegant collection of Delightful Stories and Tales : many plates. 50 cts 
HOPE ON, HOPE EYER ; or the Boyhood of Felix Law. By Mary 
Howitt. 37! cents 

STRIVE AND THRIVE ; a Tale. By Mary Howitt. 37! cents. 
SOWING AND REAPING; or, What will Come cf It? By Mary 
Howitt. 37! cents. 

WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? a Tale. By Mary Howitt. 87! cts. 
WHICH IS THE WISER ? or, People Abroad. Bv Mary Ilowitt. 37! cts. 
LITTLE COIN MUCH CARE ; or, How Poor People Live. By Mary 
Howitt. 37! cents. 

WORK AND WAGES ; or, Life in Service. By Mary Howitt. 37! cts 
ALICE FRANKLIN By Mary Howitt. 

NO SENSE LIKE COMMON SENSE. By Mary Howitt. 

THE DANGERS OF DINING OUT ; or, Hints to those who would 
make Home Happy. To which is added the Confessions of a Maniac. 
By Mrs. Ellis. 37! cents. 

SOMERVILLE KALL ; or, Hints to those who would make Home 
Happy. To which is added the Rising Tide. By Mrs. Ellis. 37! cents. 
FIRST IMPRESSIONS ; or, Hints to those who would make Home 

Happy. By Mrs. Ellis. 37! cents. 

MINISTER’S FAMILY ; or, Hints to those who would make Home 
Happy. By Mrs. Ellis. 37! cents. 

THE TWIN SISTERS; a Tale. By Mrs. Sandham. 37! cents. 

TIRED OF HOUSE-KEEPING ; a Tale. By T S. Arthur. 37! cents. 

“ Messrs. Appleton & Co. deserve the highest praise for the excellent 
manner in which they have 1 got up’ their juvenile library, and we sincere- 
ly hope that its success will be so great as to mdu.ee them to make con- 
tinual contributions to«t»t/feasuw(|. £rJ[he collection is ,$h| which should 
be owned by every paitedj who wwliaTfiliat the^or^ ancrTntellectual im- 
provement of his child^Jshould#cee| e ^ace wij#T\h«1Viqwth in years, and 
the development of thelrphysica.1 powers.” — 








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